


Advent

by GoldenUsagi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Fluff, M/M, Romance, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-20
Updated: 2012-04-22
Packaged: 2017-11-04 03:42:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/389358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenUsagi/pseuds/GoldenUsagi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester is an average guy with a mostly average life. At least until an injured angel lands face down in his pool. Things get weird after that. (Loosely based on the movie Date With An Angel and a healthy dose of SPN canon.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This probably should be rated higher for language, but I just can't bring myself to rate a piece of non-violent, non-sexy fluff as Mature.

Dean was enjoying the pleasant haze that came from having a few relaxing beers when he heard the splash. The noise was cannonball-worthy, and it startled him enough to make him wonder who the hell was sneaking into the apartment complex’s pool at two in the morning. But curious to see if those skinny-dipping coeds were back (thank dumb luck for having a poolside apartment), Dean made his way over to the window and slowly pulled the curtain aside.  
  
And just _stared_. The pool was fucking _glowing_.  
  
Dean ran his hand over his face, blinking several times. He knew he hadn’t had that much to drink.  
  
When he looked again, the pool was still shining, and not in a pool-light sort of way (not that they kept the light on at night). And was that someone floating just under the surface of water?  
  
Dean was fumbling with the lock to his front door before he thought twice about it. Whatever was happening, if some poor schmuck drowned while he was standing at his window gawking, he’d never forgive himself.  
  
By the time he reached the pool’s fence, the water was back to its nighttime black. The only illumination was coming from the security lights overhead. Dean noticed the sidewalks around the pool were wet under his feet. Peering through the bars, he could just make out something rippling on the water. Something like clothing.  
  
“Fuck,” he muttered.  
  
Dean moved back, looking at the fence and gauging the distance. A second later, he hopped it and landed with a dull thud on the pavement of the other side.  
  
There was definitely someone face down in the pool.  
  
“Fuck,” he said again.  
  
He jumped in, half-swimming, half-walking through the chin deep water. When Dean reached the man—clearly a man, now—and tried to turn him over, his fingers encountered something that made him draw back in surprise. It was drenched and slick, and wasn’t the bunch of soaked cloth that he had been expecting to grab.  
  
On either side of the man, it kind of looked like… wings.  
  
Which wasn’t important or helpful at getting the guy out of the pool. Dean moved directly in front of him and then dipped beneath the water himself, pulling the guy’s arms over his own shoulders and draping him over his back.  
  
Then he made for the shallow end of the pool where the steps were.  
  
Dean brought them both out of the water, which took a lot more effort than he’d expected. As soon as the man’s weight wasn’t supported by buoyancy, he dragged Dean down with every step. This guy was as heavy as Sam.  
  
Dean managed to get all the way out on the pavement, and then he shrugged the guy off his shoulders and laid him on the ground. As he awkwardly turned the man onto his back, the guy made an unnaturally high pitched noise, but otherwise didn’t stir. Dean knelt next to him.  
  
He was breathing; he wasn’t coughing up water. Good signs. Didn’t need CPR, lungs somehow weren’t full of water—  
  
And fuck, those really looked like wings. _Really_ looked like wings. Even in the dim lighting, it looked like feathers and bones—like real bird wings, not some cheap costume. Dean cautiously put his hand on one. Yeah, definitely freaky.  
  
If Dean believed in that kind of shit, he’d think this was an angel.  
  
Which it clearly wasn’t. Clearly.  
  
Dean gently slapped the guy’s cheek with his fingertips. “Hey, buddy. Hey. C’mon, wake up.”  
  
No response.  
  
Right. So he’d done his part, kept the dude from dying, and now it was time to call the landlord or 911 and let them deal with the not-angel.  
  
Except that he kind of felt responsible for the guy in a weird way. He could wait for him to wake up at least, Dean supposed. No need to get the authorities breathing down the poor guy’s neck for some harmless trespassing.  
  
But he couldn’t wait out here in the dead of night. After some tricky maneuvering, Dean got the man draped over his shoulders again—the only way he could carry him due to the not-wings.  
  
It was only when he reached the gate that he realized he couldn’t get out of the pool area the way he got in. Jumping the fence while carrying someone wasn’t happening. Though he could pick the lock if he went back to his apartment first and got a pin or something.  
  
He was surprised when he put a hand to the gate and it swung open. Dean raised his eyebrows; the gate was always locked at night. But he made his way to his apartment door, hauling the increasingly heavy-feeling man. It was probably the not-wings.  
  
Once inside, he laid the not-angel face down on the floor. On the floor, because he couldn’t figure out how to arrange him on the couch with the not-wings. Face down, because he was afraid of turning him over and laying him on the not-wings again. He hadn’t seemed to like that last time. Dean slid a pillow under the guy’s head. He tried to remove some of the wet clothes, or at least the coat, but couldn’t figure out how, exactly, because of the not-wings.  
  
Which were looking increasingly like wings again under the bright light fixtures. Fuck.  
  
Big black wings that were almost as long as the guy was tall.  
  
It was too late, or too early, for this shit—Dean wasn’t sure which. He made sure the curtains were closed and the door was locked, and turned out the lights. The not-angel guy probably wasn’t dangerous, and it wasn’t like Dean couldn’t take care of himself. Dean went into the bedroom, stripping out of his own wet clothes and tossing them onto the bathroom floor. He pulled on a clean set of boxers and a T-shirt, and collapsed on the bed.  
  
\-----  
  
The sunrise was starting to shine through the curtains when Dean woke up again. His head hurt, and he thought it was entirely too early to be getting up when he had a hangover. Especially after having weird dreams about drowning angels.  
  
The hair on the back of his neck suddenly stood up like he was being watched, and Dean looked over his shoulder toward the bedroom door.  
  
“Holy crap!” He was out of bed in an instant.  
  
The not-angel was standing in the doorframe.  
  
Dean closed his eyes, pressing his palms to his head. When he looked again, the guy was still there.  
  
“Holy crap,” Dean said again. “This is real. You’re real.”  
  
The angel just stared at him, blue eyes quizzical and a slight frown on his face. His clothes were dry—and apparently angels wore cheap suits—and his wings were folded behind him. Except one wasn’t folded as neatly and was sort of dragging on the floor.  
  
“You _are_ an angel, right?”  
  
All he got in response was a slight head tilt, like the angel was saying, ‘Obviously’.  
  
“What, do you not understand English?”  
  
A deeper frown.  
  
“Of course not,” Dean muttered. “Look, just…” he gestured vaguely at the living room as he moved around the bed. Dean skirted around him and went into the living room. The angel followed him. Dean pointed to the couch. “Sit.”  
  
After a moment of glancing between Dean’s face and his outstretched arm, the trench coat-wearing angel sat down on the couch.  
  
“Good. Now… stay there.”  
  
Dean shut the bedroom door, leaning against it for a minute. Then he did what he did whenever there was something he had no freaking idea how to deal with on his own.  
  
He called Sam.  
  
It only occurred to him after the phone was already ringing that it was probably barely past six, and Sam was still going to be asleep. However, Sam answered on the second ring, apparently awake and alert.  
  
“Hey, can you come over?” Dean blurted.  
  
“I’ve kind of got a busy day today, Dean.”  
  
“Man, I really need some help.”  
  
There was a pause. “You do remember that our apartment practically burned down yesterday, right? Jess and I are going today to see what can be salvaged.”  
  
“I know! And I was gonna help, but—”  
  
“ _Was_? Dean, I was counting on y—”  
  
“Sammy, please.”  
  
“What is it?” Sam asked, obviously feeling the importance of the rare ‘Sammy + please.’  
  
“You have to come see it.”  
  
“Just tell me what you need.”  
  
“You wouldn’t fucking believe me if I told you. I don’t even believe me. Look, your hotel’s, what, ten minutes away? Just come over, and then if you don’t want to help, you can turn right around and go back.”  
  
There was an even longer pause. “Okay. Jess won’t be up for a little while, I guess. But this had better be good,” he added.  
  
Dean hung up the phone.  
  
Then he brushed his teeth, splashed water on his face, slowly got dressed—and he was totally _not_ hiding from the angel in the living room, but he couldn’t go back out there when it kept _staring_ at him.  
  
Nearly ten minutes after he got off the phone with Sam, he heard a knock on the front door. Dean went into the living room. The angel was still sitting on the couch. His head swiveled around as Dean entered the room. Dean opened the front door a crack. Sam’s Expectant Bitchface greeted him.  
  
“Are you going to let me in?”  
  
“I’ve got a problem,” Dean said.  
  
“I know. I’m here.”  
  
“You believe in angels, right?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Just answer the question, Sam.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes. “Yes, I believe in angels. And I pray. Which I think you teased me mercilessly about, if I remember right.”  
  
“Okay. Just don’t freak out.”  
  
Dean opened the door, and Sam walked past him. His eyes fell to the man sitting on the couch. Everything was silent for a moment. Then Sam turned to Dean, annoyance and anger spreading over his face. “Very funny, Dean. I can’t believe you dragged me over here for this. Especially today!”  
  
“He’s a real angel!”  
  
“Right.” Sam turned toward the door.  
  
Dean slammed a hand against the door, preventing Sam from opening it. “Sammy, _look_ at him!”  
  
Sam glared at Dean and walked over to the angel, who remained perfectly still. “Well?”  
  
“ _Look_.”  
  
Sam frowned, getting a little closer. And then a lot closer. He was absorbed as he peered at a wing, and he gasped when it moved under his hand. Sam skittered backward, like he was afraid the angel was going to smite him for touching without permission.  
  
Then his face lit up like a little boy on Christmas morning. “Oh, my God. Dean… what… how…?”  
  
“I don’t know. He crashed in the pool last night. I heard this splash, so I went to look. He was floating there, and I dragged him out. He was unconscious until this morning.”  
  
“Did anyone else see?”  
  
“Nope.”  
  
“Does he—talk?”  
  
“No, he just stares at me.”  
  
The brothers turned in unison to look at the angel. It was true that while he had glanced some at Sam, most of his focus was on Dean.  
  
Sam smirked. “Well, you rescued him. It’s only natural.”  
  
“Fun-ny.” Dean looked back at the angel. “Hey,” he said, gesturing to the door, “why don’t you go be free or something? Fly away.”  
  
Sam made a face like he couldn’t believe he was related to Dean. “Dean, he’s not a wild animal. You can’t just say, ‘go be free,’ and release him back to his natural habitat—which I’m pretty sure is _Heaven_ , by the way.” He frowned thoughtfully, gazing back at the angel. “Besides, I think he’s hurt.”  
  
Dean stared at the wing that was sticking out at a peculiar angle. There _was_ something not quite right about it. Sam moved closer again, examining without touching. “I don’t think he _can_ leave,” he announced.  
  
“Well, what am I supposed to do?”  
  
“Help him.”  
  
“I don’t know anything about bird wings,” Dean said.  
  
“Angel wings,” Sam corrected, moving back to stand beside Dean.  
  
“I know even less about angel wings. Maybe we should, y’know, give him to someone.”  
  
“Like who?”  
  
“A church.” Dean shrugged. “Catholics. They’re the literal ones, right?”  
  
“Dean, you can’t just hand him over to someone else.”  
  
“Well, I don’t know what he needs. They believe in angels, don’t they?”  
  
“I don’t exactly think believing comes with practical knowledge. There aren’t angels on Earth. At least, not like this,” Sam said, gesturing in the angel’s direction. “I think we would have noticed. Besides, do something like that and he’ll end up on the six o’clock news.”  
  
They both looked down at the angel again. He was staring at them with a beseeching face that for all the world seemed to be saying, ‘Please don’t hand me over to anyone else.’  
  
Dean cleared his throat. “Do you get the feeling that he knows exactly what we’re saying even though he doesn’t understand a word of it?”  
  
“The point is,” Sam said, “whatever angels can do, I don’t think he can do right now. I think he’s stuck here, and I think you’re all he’s got. And maybe there’s a reason he was sent to you.”  
  
“I don’t think he was so much ‘sent’ as ‘crash landed’.”  
  
Sam waved a hand in acknowledgement.  
  
“I’ve got no idea what I’m supposed to do for him. Nurse him back to health? Dude, that’s so not me.”  
  
“Yeah, you’re not exactly the nurturing type,” Sam said. “But I’m not sure he needs that.”  
  
“I thought maybe your, y’know, freaky mind thing could help.”  
  
Sam grimaced at the mention of his ‘mind thing’, but he did stare at the angel for few seconds.  
  
“Sorry, Dean. I’m not getting anything. You know I’d be happy to have him stay with me, but we’re kind of living out of a hotel right now.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah.”  
  
“But you’re off the hook with helping today,” Sam said. “This is much more important.”  
  
“I’m not staying here all day like this. Anyway, I don’t know how that would help him.”  
  
“Keep him company.”  
  
“He doesn’t talk,” Dean hissed.  
  
“You’re right that he seems to know what we mean, though. Hmm…” Sam looked at the angel and placed a hand on his own chest. “Sam,” he said. He pointed to Dean. “Dean.” Then he pointed to the angel and looked at him expectantly.  
  
The angel narrowed his eyes slightly, and then in a rough voice said, “Castiel.”  
  
“Casteel,” Sam said. “See?”  
  
“Cas-ti- _el_ ,” the angel corrected.  
  
“Castiel told you,” Dean said, nudging Sam with his elbow.  
  
Castiel looked at Dean upon hearing his name. “Dean,” he said, seeming pleased.  
  
“Yeah, Dean. Me Dean, you Castiel, progress all around. Look,” Dean said to Sam, “I just can’t sit here all day. It’s weird. I don’t know what angels do, but surely he’ll be fine on his own. I’ll come with you guys.”  
  
“Okay,” Sam said, shrugging. “I’ll come back with you later. Maybe we can go by the library and find something on setting bird wings.”  
  
“Where the hell do you even start looking for that?”  
  
“The National Audubon Society should have something,” Sam said in his ‘it’s not that hard, Dean’ voice.  
  
“Let’s leave now. Swing by a diner and pick up breakfast.”  
  
“If you want.”  
  
They glanced down at Castiel again.  
  
“Maybe you should leave the TV on for him,” Sam suggested.  
  
“What would angels watch?”  
  
“ _Touched by an Angel_?”  
  
“Dude, not funny.”  
  
Dean switched on the TV and set it to the Discovery Channel on a low volume. “If you don’t want to watch, turn it off,” he said to Castiel, pointing out the red button as he put the remote in his hand. “And if you need to sleep, you can use the bed, I guess. So, yeah.” Dean looked him straight in the eyes, hoping his meaning was getting through. “You can stay here, and I’ll try to help if I can figure out how. We’ll fix you up and keep it quiet.”  
  
Castiel stared intently at him, suddenly looking so fucking grateful it was uncomfortable. “Right,” Dean said, stepping back. “I’ll be back later.”  
  
The angel was still staring as he shut the door.  
  
“Yeah, this isn’t going to be weird at all,” Dean muttered, locking the door once they were outside.  
  
“Dean, most people would be thrilled.”  
  
“I don’t know who you hang out with, Sam, but most people would be going crazy and calling the National Enquirer, or trying to worship him or something.”  
  
“Well, good that you’re not most people,” Sam said, with that disgustingly sentimental ‘I’m so proud you’re my brother’ look.  
  
Dean pointed a finger in Sam’s face. “No chick flick moments. Or me and my car are not helping you today.”  
  
Sam snorted. “Like you were going to let me put smoke damaged things in the Impala to begin with.”  
  
“Life’s a bitch,” Dean said with a shrug. Then he paused, eyeing his window and making sure no one could see in.  
  
“So are we going?” Sam asked.  
  
“Yeah.” Dean turned away. “We’re going.”


	2. Chapter 2

“You think he’s still here?” Dean asked as he and Sam rounded the corner from the parking lot. He paused on the sidewalk.  
  
“Where would he go?”  
  
“I don’t know. Maybe he already fixed himself and went back to Heaven.” Dean shrugged. “I’m surprised Jess didn’t get mad about you coming back with me, what with everything going on.”  
  
“I told her I’d be back after lunch. I just said that you needed my help with something important, and she didn’t mind. She said she realized a long time ago we were ‘irrationally codependent’. But she doesn’t have a brother or sister, so she thinks it’s sweet.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes at being called ‘sweet’.   
  
“But she likes the fact that you’ll be there just as quick for me—for us.” Sam paused. “Dean, I’m going to ask Jessica to marry me.”  
  
“That’s great, Sammy.” Dean pulled Sam into a quick hug, slapping him on the back. “Really, congratulations.”  
  
“She hasn’t said yes yet.”  
  
“Aw, you’ve got it made. But she’s a classy lady. You did good.” He grinned. “She’s way too good for you, lawyer or not.”  
  
“I’ve got a favor to ask,” Sam continued. He dug in his pocket, pulling out a small case that had clearly seen better days. “I made sure to find it today before Jess saw. Though it’s kind of, well…” He opened the case.  
  
“Black,” Dean said.  
  
“The ring’s damaged, but at least it didn’t melt. I need to take it to the jeweler and see what they can do. But can you hold on to it for now? I’m running low on hiding places. And as much as I don’t want her to see it, I really don’t want her to see it like this.”  
  
“No problem,” Dean said, taking the box from Sam and putting it in his pocket.  
  
“Thanks. So, let’s go deal with your angel.”  
  
“He’s not my angel.”  
  
“Well, he’s not _my_ angel.”  
  
Dean grumbled and started walking. When he unlocked the apartment door, he half-expected the place to be empty, for the angel to have just vanished into thin air. But Castiel was firmly planted on the couch like he’d never moved. He probably hadn’t. The TV was still on.  
  
He turned to look at them as they came in.  
  
“Hello, Dean.”  
  
Dean’s brows shot up. “You talk now?”  
  
“I do.”  
  
“What the hell?”  
  
“Dean, don’t swear at the angel!” Sam said. He glanced at Castiel, half-apologetic, half-panicked. “He didn’t mean it.”  
  
“How did you learn to talk?” Dean asked. “English,” he clarified.  
  
“I made use of your television.”  
  
Sam looked like he was having some sort of geek-gasm. “You learned a language in a day? That’s amazing!”  
  
“Looks like the angel is a regular Daryl Hannah,” Dean muttered. When Sam and Castiel just frowned at him, he said, “You know, that movie. _Splash_.”  
  
Sam snickered. “You watched a mermaid movie?”  
  
“A movie with a _naked_ mermaid, dude.”  
  
Dean looked back at Castiel, who returned his gaze stoically. He suddenly felt thrown off his game. He had been expecting someone who couldn’t really communicate, and what was he supposed to say to an _angel_ , anyway? Just to be doing something, Dean turned off the TV. Which only made the silence heavier. Thankfully, Sam started talking.  
  
“There’s so much I want to ask you,” he said, sitting down in the recliner and leaning toward Castiel.  
  
“My apologies,” Castiel said earnestly. “But I’m not here to provide answers for you.”  
  
“Oh,” Sam said, his face falling. “Well. Yeah. I bet you’re not really supposed to tell us the secrets of life.”  
  
“You got a divine message to give us or something?” Dean asked.  
  
“No. My mission was disrupted when I was injured. This was not my exact destination.”  
  
“How were you hurt?” Sam said.  
  
Castiel flushed slightly, looking almost embarrassed. “I’d rather not say. But it’s true that I need assistance,” he said, his eyes settling on Dean.  
  
“With your wing?”  
  
“Yes. I am unable to fix it myself.” He seemed bothered by that fact.  
  
“Hey, don’t sweat it,” Dean said. “Nothing wrong with not being able to set your own broken bones.”  
  
“You want to stand up and let us have a look?” Sam asked, getting to his feet.  
  
Castiel stood. Then he brought his hands to the collar of his coat, moving like he was going to take it off. He pulled the coat off one shoulder, and the next second, it was hanging in his hand.  
  
Dean blinked, sure that he’d missed something. He watched as Castiel repeated the process with his suit jacket. One moment, he was wearing it; the next moment, it was in his hand. Apparently angel magic was the only way to get clothes off when you had giant wings.  
  
“Huh,” Sam said. He was examining the trench coat that was draped over the couch. Now that Castiel was no longer wearing it, Dean could see that it had two long slits in the back.  
  
“So, that one’s okay, right?” Sam asked, pointing to the right wing.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
As if confirmation were needed, Castiel extended the wing, bringing it up and spreading it fully for a moment.   
  
“Dude,” Dean said. Even a one-winged display from an angel wearing a rumpled dress shirt and a messed up tie was pretty fucking impressive. Both wings would probably span his living room.  
  
“Er, wow,” Sam said. “Good.”  
  
Then Castiel turned his back to them. Dean and Sam moved closer, inspecting the wing that was damaged. Besides the fact that it was awkwardly hanging and then bent in a different place, there were missing feathers and spots of raw skin. Dean saw what appeared to be dried blood.  
  
“Shouldn’t we wash this first?” he asked.  
  
“It’s not necessary,” Castiel said. “There will be no infection.”  
  
“So…” Sam said, as he and Dean shared a look. “You want to get the bandages?”  
  
By unspoken agreement, it was Sam who actually ended up setting the wing back into place. Because he was the one who had skimmed the books on birds and studied the drawings. Also, because Dean didn’t want to be the one to accidentally break the angel. Especially since he had to share space with the guy.  
  
“Can I touch?” Sam asked.  
  
“Of course,” Castiel said.  
  
Sam put his hands on the good wing first, feeling the way the bones were supposed to fit together. Several times, he asked Castiel to partially extend the wing or fold it a certain way.  
  
“All right,” Sam finally announced. “Here we go.” He tentatively felt of the broken wing. Castiel got a pinched expression on what Dean could see of his face. When Sam finally snapped things back into place, Castiel didn’t make a sound. But his fists were clenched and his knuckles were white.  
  
And the overhead light flickered ominously. Dean glanced at the ceiling, half-wondering if they were about to get struck by lightning or something.  
  
“Dean!” Sam said.  
  
“Uh, right.” Dean started wrapping the bandage tightly around the wing as Sam held it in position. The feathers were slippery under his hands, but he moved the bandage as Sam instructed, in and out and up and down. When they were finished, the wing was closely folded to the angel’s back and bound in place.  
  
“Does that feel right?” Dean asked.  
  
“Yes,” Castiel ground out. “Thank you.” His face was still tight. “I will use the bed now,” he announced. With that, he disappeared into the bedroom.  
  
Sam turned to look at Dean.  
  
“I guess I should get back,” he said. “You good here?”  
  
“Super. Awesome.” Dean rubbed his hands together. “Completely normal day.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes. “You’ll be fine.”  
  
Dean stood in the living room for a minute after Sam left. But he felt like he was obligated to go check on his guest.  
  
Castiel was lying on his stomach, head turned to one side to stare at the curtains. Dean thought that he’d probably like to see outside. But then there was a chance of someone spotting him.  
  
Dean bent down to make eye contact. “You, uh, you need anything?”  
  
“No. Thank you.”  
  
“Seriously, man, you don’t look so hot. Tylenol? Advil?”  
  
Castiel just stared at him. It was a sideways stare, since he (reasonably) didn’t try to make any movement from the bed.  
  
“Painkillers,” Dean said.  
  
“They won’t affect me.”  
  
“You sure?”  
  
“I will heal.” A pause. “And it is not strictly physical.”  
  
“What do you mean?” Dean found himself sinking down to the floor. He leaned against the wall and rested his hands on his knees.  
  
For a minute, Dean thought that he wasn’t going to answer. But eventually, Castiel said, “Our wings are tied to what we are. They’re very difficult to damage— _we_ are difficult to damage—but in doing so, our other selves are injured as well.”  
  
Dean frowned. “Other self?”  
  
“Humans have souls. Angels have grace.”  
  
“So your soul’s hurt.”  
  
“In a way. Our grace and flesh are bound. They aren’t separate as human souls and flesh are. We exist as you see in either plane.” He paused. “Damage to our physical bodies alone means nothing. Damage to our grace is more time consuming to recover.”  
  
“You’re saying you need to recharge your angel battery?”  
  
“In a way,” he said again.  
  
There was silence. Castiel was just staring at him—expressionless, yet sort of tired.  
  
“Yeah, I should leave you alone,” Dean said, starting to get up.  
  
“Dean.”  
  
Dean stopped.  
  
“I realize my presence is an imposition. But I’m grateful for the assistance.” And there was that deep, thankful stare again. An angel shouldn’t be looking at anyone like that, least of all him.  
  
“Right,” Dean said, raising an eyebrow. “I wanted to give you to someone else, remember?”  
  
“Only because you thought they would be better suited. Not because you desired gain or didn’t want the trouble. But your brother was right—”  
  
“How did you know he was my brother?”  
  
“Your love for each other was obvious,” Castiel said. “But he is correct that I can’t leave. I am… wholly dependent like this.” An edge of bitterness crept into his voice. “Grounded and stranded.”  
  
“Everyone gets hurt sometime,” Dean said, waving a hand.  
  
“It is not a condition I’m used to,” he said stiffly. “We are not made to be reliant on humans.”  
  
“Well, there are worse people than me you could be reliant on,” Dean snapped automatically, not sure if the ‘humans’ comment was some sort of indirect insult.  
  
“My point exactly,” Castiel said.  
  
“Oh. Uh, right.” Way to be a jerk to the angel who was trying to compliment him. “Yeah, I guess there wasn’t exactly a line waiting to drag your sorry ass out of the pool. Er… you don’t actually smite people for swearing, do you?”  
  
Castiel huffed, a noise that almost could have been a laugh. “No. We don’t.”  
  
“So what do you smite people for?”  
  
“We don’t. But these sorts of questions—I shouldn’t—”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, secrets of life. Don’t worry, I’m not gonna grill you on the Bible like Sam would. I haven’t even read the Bible.” Dean kicked himself as soon as the words left his mouth. He wondered if that was the sort of thing he should really be admitting to an _angel_.  
  
But Castiel just seemed faintly amused.  
  
“I gotta ask about the TV thing, though. That was kind of freaky. Awesome, but freaky.”  
  
“Ah.” He seemed like he was trying to find the right words. “We can… take in information swiftly. There are thousands of human languages spoken over thousands of years. We only know them as we encounter them.”  
  
“So, what, you’ve got the ultimate—osmosis?” Sam would be proud of him for remembering that word. (Though Dean hadn’t liked the way Sam used to tease him about not actually being able learn through osmosis when he fell asleep doing homework.)  
  
“If you like.”  
  
“What were you doing before, reading our minds?”  
  
“It’s more like looking into the soul, seeing the direct truth of the matter. Even in your mind you think in your language.” He sighed. “But, given time enough to listen, I was able to process it.”  
  
Dean realized Castiel was talking about when he and Sam had left.  
  
Dean leaned his head back against the wall. “Fuck, I’m an idiot.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Oh, yeah, I’m a great guy. I leave you here, alone, in pain, for hours just because I don’t know what to do with you. Swell.”  
  
“It was an understandable reaction.”  
  
“Yeah, good for me,” Dean said sarcastically. “Angel with a broken wing? I’ll be back later, here, watch TV.”  
  
“You were unsure. Humans rarely deal with our presence so easily as you did. And you didn’t know what to do then, nor could I tell you,” Castiel said reasonably.  
  
“Doesn’t stop me from feeling like a Grade A asshole.”  
  
Castiel frowned pensively. If the angel hadn’t been lying down, Dean would swear he was tilting his head. “Why are you so hard on yourself? You have been nothing but selfless in this. You did a good thing, Dean.”  
  
Dean decided that he didn’t like where this conversation was headed, especially not after the whole ‘I can look into your soul’ revelation. He stood up, moving to the door. “I’ll let you get some sleep.”  
  
“I do not sleep,” Castiel said. “Though I don’t feel like moving,” he added.  
  
“I’ll let you get some not sleep, then,” Dean said. He hesitated, before saying, “Look, I have to go to work later. Are you gonna be good here by yourself?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“You sure?” He didn’t want to feel guilty about leaving the guy all on his own again.  
  
“Yes,” the angel said. “I will be good.”  
  
Dean smirked to himself. “All right.”  
  
He shut the door behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean took an unplanned nap in the afternoon because of all the sleep he hadn’t gotten the night before. Luckily, he woke up in time to make his shift that evening.  
  
After grabbing a quick bite to eat, Dean opened the bedroom door. The angel who didn’t sleep was totally sleeping. Dean quietly grabbed a fresh shirt and changed in the living room. Then he locked the front door and left.  
  
The Roadhouse was on the other side of town. He didn’t mind the drive, of course, and Ellen had been nice enough to let him bartend while he was between jobs. She said she needed the help. Dean knew better, but Ellen was one of the few people who he would let help him out. He wasn’t a bartender professionally, but he knew enough to get by. No one at the bar and grill ever ordered anything fancy, anyway. And if they did, Ellen could make practically any drink blindfolded.  
  
When Dean arrived, he took up his customary place behind the counter. After a few minutes, Jo sidled up to him.  
  
“Is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?” she asked with a grin.  
  
Before Dean could answer, Jo shot him a mischievous look and stuck her hand in his pocket. Her expression shifted as her hand closed around what was in his pocket, and she pulled out the box and opened it.  
  
Sam’s ring. He’d completely forgotten to take it out.  
  
“That’s not for you,” Dean blurted, as she frowned at it.  
  
Jo rolled her eyes and punched him in the shoulder. “I know it’s not for me, dumbass. Only a weirdo would give me a ring after four dates, and only a _moron_ would give me one that looked like this.”  
  
Dean snatched the ring from her, closing the box and shoving it back in his pocket. “It’s Sam’s. For Jess.”  
  
Jo let out a rare girlish squeal. “They’re engaged?”  
  
“Not yet,” Dean said. “So keep quiet.”  
  
“Okay, okay. So what’s the deal?”  
  
“It got damaged in the fire. Sam asked me to hang on to it while they’re moving.”  
  
She nodded. Then she said, “You should get it fixed for him. It could be your wedding present.”  
  
Dean shrugged. “Sam said he’d take it somewhere.”  
  
“Yeah, but if you did it, it would be one less thing for him to mess with right now.” She leaned on the counter. “Trust me, after a fire, anything that you don’t have to take care of yourself is a huge relief.”  
  
“I know about fires,” Dean said, aggravated.  
  
“And how old were you? You didn’t have to take care of anything.”  
  
“Just Sam.” He paused. “Yeah, maybe I’ll see about the ring. He’d like that.”  
  
Jo looked distant, like her mind had gone somewhere else. Then she shook her head. “It’s just good that no one was hurt.”  
  
“Hey,” Ellen said, coming out of the back. “We’ve got customers.”  
  
Jo rolled her eyes again, but headed back to the front of the place.  
  
Ellen opened the register and started adding ones and fives. “How is Sam?” she asked without looking up.  
  
“He’s okay,” Dean said, wiping down the counter. “Good as he can be. We were over there today—there wasn’t much left.”  
  
“That’s too bad,” she said, shutting the register. “You tell him if he needs anything, all he has to do is holler.”  
  
Dean nodded. “Will do.”  
  
A customer came up, and Dean turned to him with a practiced smile. “What can I get you?”  
  
\-----  
  
When Dean got back at the end of the night, the angel who didn’t sleep was still sleeping. Dean kicked off his boots in the living room. Looked like he was taking the couch tonight. Not that he probably wouldn’t have ended up on the couch anyway, since the guy with broken bones (and wings) sort of got the bed by default. But it was late, and he was fucking tired, so even the couch that was slightly too short didn’t keep him from falling asleep.  
  
He didn’t wake up until late morning, when he was startled by a thump followed by a thud. Dean stumbled to his feet, dragging himself toward the bedroom. The door was ajar, and he saw Castiel righting the metal floor lamp, which had fallen into the wall.  
  
“Everything okay?” Dean asked after a moment.  
  
Castiel turned around. He was unfazed, like he had known Dean was there the whole time. “Yes. I apologize. I was stretching, and I didn’t see it.”  
  
Dean was about to ask how the hell stretching would knock over lamps, when he noticed that Castiel’s good wing was spread halfway out. It fluttered slightly.  
  
“I did not break the light,” he added.  
  
“Cas, it’s fine.”  
  
He frowned. “You called me Cas.”  
  
“It, uh, just slipped out. Sorry. Less of a mouthful.” Crap, it was too early for this. Angels probably weren’t down with the whole nickname thing, not to mention telling them their names were hard to pronounce.  
  
But Castiel didn’t look offended, only contemplative. “You may call me Cas,” he announced.  
  
Dean just nodded.  
  
Castiel folded his wing back. “I would like to bathe, if it’s not inconvenient.”  
  
“Sure, just give me a minute first.”  
  
Dean went into the bathroom himself, quickly taking a leak, washing his hands, and brushing his teeth. He realized he hadn’t had a shower himself since he’d dragged Castiel out of the pool, but he figured it was good manners to let the angel take one first. Not that he usually had good manners, but he kept coming back to the fact that it was an _angel_ , so good manners it was.  
  
As Dean let Castiel into the bathroom, he realized how small the room actually was. It was an average tiny apartment bathroom—the sink and mirror right when you walked in, followed by the toilet, and then the tub against the back wall. There really wasn’t room for two grown men, one of which had wings, but Dean had to show Castiel how to work the tap and turn on the showerhead.  
  
He pulled a towel out of the cabinet as he left, laying it on the back of the toilet. “You should be good to go.”  
  
“Thank you, Dean.”  
  
Dean stood outside the closed door for a minute until he heard the shower come on. Figuring Castiel was fine if he’d managed that, Dean went to fix himself breakfast.  
  
After that, he settled in to watch TV.  
  
Castiel took longer in the shower than anyone Dean had ever met, chicks included. He had actually been in the shower itself over an hour, and Dean knew there couldn’t be any hot water left. Though Castiel kept turning the shower off and on, so it was anyone’s guess how much water he had actually used.  
  
Finally, he heard the bathroom door open.  
  
“Dean?” came Castiel’s voice.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“I require more towels.”  
  
“Yeah, okay.”   
  
Dean had to dig through a pile of clean laundry, but he finally found two towels. He brought them to the bathroom door, which Castiel had partway open as he stood behind it. Dean was giving him the towels when he noticed something in the mirror.  
  
“What the hell is that?”  
  
What he could see of Castiel’s left side was bruised purple and blue, and Dean almost pushed the door open further to look before he remembered _naked angel_.  
  
“I was injured,” he said simply.  
  
“Dude, _how_?”  
  
Castiel’s lips pressed together in a thin line. He looked almost contrary.  
  
“Fine, don’t tell me,” Dean said. “But put some pants on and then let me have a better look.”  
  
Castiel nodded and shut the door.  
  
It was still fifteen minutes before he emerged from the bathroom. He was wearing his slacks and socks and nothing else.  
  
Dean winced in sympathy as he got a good look at Castiel. Nearly his entire side was one big bruise. ‘Does it hurt?’ would be a useless question. He sure as hell wasn’t going to touch.  
  
“Does it hurt to breathe?” he asked instead.  
  
“No.”  
  
“You think your ribs are broken?”  
  
“I don’t believe so.”  
  
Dean couldn’t remember if you were supposed to wrap cracked ribs to hold them in place or not wrap them so you could breathe naturally. Either way, he was betting the standard medical advice didn’t apply to angels.  
  
“I will heal,” Castiel said.  
  
“Are you sure?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“If you say so,” Dean said uncertainly. “That just looks messed up, man.”  
  
It hurt just to look at Castiel. But Castiel moved to put his white shirt on, using the same angel magic that he had to take the coat off. Then he started doing up the buttons by hand.  
  
Dean found himself staring at Castiel’s wings. One was still as they wrapped it yesterday, bandages wet now, but firmly in place. The other looked glossy and sharp. Dean didn’t know much about flying or aerodynamics, but the wings really didn’t look big enough to carry a human-sized person.  
  
“So you actually fly with those?” Dean blurted. He cringed as soon as the words left his mouth. Dumb, dumb question.  
  
However, Castiel seemed to take it at face value. “Not as you understand it, no. Our wings are like physical manifestations of our grace. When we fly, we’re moving between dimensions.”  
  
“You’re not just flapping around up there in the clouds, then.”  
  
Castiel looked amused. “No.”  
  
“Dimensions, huh? Well, that sounds cool.”  
  
Castiel seemed pleased that he thought so. “I could be on the other side of the world in less than a second.” He didn’t say it boastingly; he said it like a simple fact.  
  
“Damn.” That was kind of impressively awesome. “Seriously?”  
  
“When I’m myself again.” He glanced down, flexing his hand. “Right now I’m merely capable of what you would call parlor tricks.”  
  
“Can all angels do stuff like that?”  
  
“Most of us exist in a very similar rank. We are not so varied as your lore would make us. The true exceptions are the archangels.” He paused. “Archangels are absolute. Unlimited and unyielding. They can do anything you can imagine, and many things you probably can’t.”  
  
“So what else can you do?”  
  
But then Castiel seemed to remember who he was talking to, and just said, “Different things.”  
  
And yeah, Dean had seen that coming. Still, he was surprised how much Castiel had told him without his really asking. None of it was strictly ‘secrets of life,’ but it was cold hard facts about angels, which the guy had to know wasn’t exactly common knowledge.  
  
“Well,” Dean said, “if you’re good, I’m going to take a shower.” The water heater should have had time to catch up by now.  
  
Castiel nodded, and Dean went into the bathroom. He half expected to find puddles on the floor or water all over the countertop (because wings didn’t fit inside shower curtains), but the room was spotless. The only sign that Castiel had been there at all were the feathers in the trashcan.  
  
After he got out of the shower and put on clean clothes, Dean found Castiel in the living room. He was just sitting, staring at nothing in particular. His coat and jacket were thrown over the kitchen table.  
  
Dean wondered if he should have offered to wash Castiel’s clothes, or given him something clean to wear.  
  
But when he said as much, Castiel said, “My clothing is fine. A parlor trick,” he explained. “This, I can manage.”  
  
Dean shrugged in reply. “I’m going to get the mail. Be back in a minute.”  
  
He walked to the center of the apartment complex and got the mail that had built up in his box over the last couple of days. However, on his way back, he noticed that there were several maintenance people in the pool area. Dean made his way over, and finding the gate unlocked, he stepped inside.  
  
“Whoa,” he muttered.  
  
The pool was drained. At the bottom, there was a spot in the concrete that looked like a cannonball had been fired at it. It was dented and broken, and spider web shaped cracks extended in a circle around it.  
  
“Hey, you’re not supposed to be in here,” one of the men said.  
  
“Sorry,” Dean said. “Just wanted to see what all the fuss was about. When do you think you’ll have it back up and running?”  
  
“No idea, man. We don’t even know what could have done this.”  
  
“Yeah, it’s pretty freaky,” Dean said. “Hey, thanks anyway.”  
  
He left the pool and went back to the apartment, where the thing that had done it was sitting on his couch. Dean shut the door. He paused, and Castiel looked up at him.  
  
“The pool’s drained,” Dean said, gesturing vaguely in that direction. “You want to know why? Cause there’s a huge crack in the bottom of it.”  
  
“Ah,” Castiel said. He folded his hands. “I believe I hit my head.”  
  
Dean just gaped at him. “You hit your head and _cracked the pool_ ,” he repeated.  
  
“Yes.” He said it like it was perfectly normal, and stared at Dean with an earnest face.  
  
“That was fucking _concrete_ , dude. And there’s not a mark on you. On your head, I mean.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“So what the hell could do that to you?” Dean asked, pointing at Castiel’s wing. “I don’t know why you think it’s gonna make you look bad. It had to be something pretty hardcore, right?”  
  
Dean thought Castiel wasn’t going to answer. But he sat down in the chair to wait anyway.  
  
Castiel sighed. “I wanted to pause and view the Earth from afar,” he said, focusing on the wall straight ahead. “But I miscalculated. I collided with a satellite.”  
  
It took Dean a second to process that. “A satellite? Like in space?”  
  
“Yes.” Castiel glanced at him reluctantly. Like he was embarrassed by the admission, but still wanted to know Dean’s reaction. “It was going thousands of miles per hour, I was going thousands of miles per hour—the result was… unpleasant.”  
  
“Gee, you think?”  
  
“I do.”  
  
“Uh-huh,” Dean said, raising an eyebrow. He didn’t even know where to start with that. Angels must be fucking indestructible if they described thousand mile an hour crashes as simply ‘unpleasant.’ “And that’s what knocked you off course,” he said.  
  
“Yes. Though I managed to mostly control my fall. My business was in Lawrence.”  
  
“We’re _in_ Lawrence.”  
  
“Not this part of Lawrence,” Castiel said.  
  
Dean held up a hand. “Let me get this straight. You’re flying through space, popping in and out of our reality, you hit a satellite, and _all_ it does is break your wing, bruise your side, and knock you a few _miles_ off course?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Dude, that’s nothing to be embarrassed about. That’s seriously badass.”  
  
“I’m solely responsible for my current impairment. It’s demeaning,” he said irritably, glancing down. “Other angels would not have made the mistake to begin with.”  
  
“Listen up,” Dean said, catching his gaze. “The other angels can suck it. So you made a mistake, so what? You did the best you could with what you had after that, and handled the situation fucking awesomely. And hey, you even managed to land somewhere good.”  
  
Castiel smiled faintly at him. “Yes, I landed somewhere good.”  
  
Just then, Dean’s cell phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket, looking at the number.  
  
Sam.  
  
“Yeah?” he answered.  
  
“Do you think our family is cursed?”  
  
“ _What_?” Of all the ideas for his brother’s huge college brain to produce, that was not one Dean could have predicted.  
  
“Mom died in a fire. Dad died in a fire. And now—”  
  
“Mom died in a fire that was an accident,” Dean cut him off. “Dad died in a fire because he was being stupid. And _no one_ died now. Curses, Sam? Really? That’s a little out there, man.”  
  
“Is it? I don’t know what’s too ‘out there’ anymore, Dean. I get premonitions—you’ve got an angel living with you.”  
  
“There’s no curse! And there’s no such things as curses,” he added.  
  
Sam didn’t say anything else, but Dean had the feeling that the conversation wasn’t over. Sam cleared his throat. “Hey, can I bring Jess by?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Well, I sort of told her about Castiel—”  
  
“You _what_?”  
  
“I tried not to, but I tell her everything, Dean.”  
  
“Yeah, and then who’s she gonna tell?” Dean snapped. Castiel was supposed to be a secret. The angel was stuck here, and it was Dean’s job to make sure he didn’t end up as the lead story on _60 Minutes_.  
  
“No one! I’m the one she tells everything to, and I already know.”  
  
“Hold on,” Dean growled. He covered the speaker with his hand. “Hey, Cas, do you mind meeting Sam’s girlfriend?”  
  
Castiel was expressionless. “I have no objection.”  
  
Dean nodded. “Yeah, sure,” he said to Sam. “When?”  
  
“Well, we’re about five minutes away from your place.”  
  
“Of course you are. Bitch.”  
  
He hung up before Sam could reply.  
  
Sam arrived shortly afterward, Jessica trailing behind him. Castiel stood up as they came in, and Dean shut the door after them.  
  
Jessica stepped out from behind Sam. And Castiel’s features went from mild disinterest to extreme focus, watching Jessica like she was a new and fascinating thing.  
  
“Wow,” she said, walking over.  
  
Castiel tilted his head, birdlike.  
  
“Wow. I mean, it’s so wonderful to meet you,” she stammered.  
  
Jessica held out her hand.  
  
After a moment of staring at the outstretched hand, Castiel took it in his own.  
  
“Jessica Moore,” he said slowly. “You shouldn’t be alive.”


	4. Chapter 4

Jessica took a step backward. “What?”  
  
“You were supposed to be in Heaven three days ago,” Castiel said evenly, like he was giving a weather report.  
  
“What do you mean?” Sam asked.  
  
Jessica looked up at Sam. “The fire?” she asked, her voice cracking. “Is he talking about the fire?”  
  
“Cas, what’s going on?” Dean said.  
  
“I can’t,” Jessica muttered. “I don’t want to hear this.” Breaking away from Sam, she opened the door and darted out.  
  
Sam hesitated before he rushed after her, shooting Dean a look that was half apologetic, half frantic, and half ‘ _You_ deal with the angel.’ Yeah, that was too many halves, but Sam was the master of crazy expressions.  
  
Dean turned to Castiel. “Dude, what the hell? Jess is a nice girl, why’d you freak her out like that? Why would you say that?”  
  
“Because it’s true,” he said easily.  
  
“How do you know?”  
  
“It’s written on her soul. And she is the reason I’m here.”  
  
Dean held up a hand. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Are you saying you came to—to take her?”  
  
Castiel sighed. “No.”  
  
“Then what?”  
  
“It’s difficult to explain.”  
  
“Well, try,” Dean snapped. When Castiel was silent, he continued with, “So you knew something this whole time and never said anything?”  
  
“I did not know your connection to her.”  
  
“Right.”  
  
“I didn’t,” Castiel said, an edge creeping into his voice. “All I knew was that the soul of Jessica Moore failed to arrive in Heaven. I did not know of you, or Sam. The name Jessica Moore was the only thing that was relevant to my task, and it was the only thing I needed to locate her on this plane.”  
  
“You were aiming for her when you fell,” Dean realized.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
It was then that Sam came back. “Jess is waiting in the car. She’s, uh, not coming back. But we’d both like to know what’s going on.” He directed what could have passed for a stern look at Castiel, except that no one could really out-stern the angel at the moment.  
  
“Well, that’s good, because Cas was just about to tell us what’s going on,” Dean said, sitting on the couch and directing a level gaze at Castiel. Sam sat down next to Dean.  
  
Castiel remained standing, his face stony and looking like he had no intention of telling them what was going on. But after a few long seconds that had somehow turned into a staring contest, the tension left his shoulders and he seated himself in the chair.  
  
“It takes many angels to run Heaven,” he finally said. “One task is ensuring the correct placement of souls who arrive at the gates of Heaven.”  
  
“Is there actually a gate?” Sam asked. Trust Sam to get stuck on the details, even now.  
  
“No. It’s figurative. Heaven… exists in many dimensions.”  
  
“Are you one of the angels who shepherds souls?” Sam said.  
  
“No. But there is a list of sorts of souls that are to be accounted for.”  
  
Dean snorted. “You’re a holy accountant?”  
  
“If you want to see it that way.” Castiel brought his hands together. “It’s incredibly rare for a person to not arrive—”  
  
“Die,” Dean said. “Not die.”  
  
“To not die,” Castiel conceded, “when they should. It’s infrequent enough that when it does happen, it attracts attention.”  
  
“So there’s some big book in Heaven that tells you when everyone’s going to die?” Dean asked.  
  
Castiel shook his head. “No one’s life is written ahead of time. However, when events are set in motion that can only lead to one end—”  
  
“You know to expect them in Heaven,” Sam interrupted.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Sam looked blank. “She was supposed to die in the fire,” he said to himself.  
  
“It would seem.”  
  
Dean cleared his throat. “So’s the Grim Reaper got her on his hit list now?”  
  
“There is no Grim Reaper,” Castiel said, frowning. “There are a multitude of reapers who deliver souls to Heaven.”  
  
“I mean, are we in a _Final Destination_ situation? Cars jumping curbs, hairdryers falling in bathtubs—is the universe going to be out to ‘get’ her?”  
  
“Ah. No.” Castiel paused, looking thoughtful. “There is no mistake to correct, as you put it. She is alive; she has as much chance at death as any human, but no more.”  
  
Sam seemed to relax at that. “You’re sure?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Wait,” Dean said, “If she was supposed to die, why didn’t she?”  
  
“Who cares?” Sam said, standing up.  
  
“Sam, I don’t think we’ve got this figured out.” All they knew was what Castiel had told them, and he’d come to find out more than that. “We don’t know what’s happening here.”  
  
“Dean, Jess is alive and she’s going to stay alive. That’s good enough for me right now. And I’m sure it’s good enough for her. And I’m sure she’d like to _know_.” Sam said pointedly, moving toward the door. “I’ll call you later, all right?”  
  
Dean just waved his hand, and Sam was gone.  
  
He turned to glare at Castiel. “Dude, you need to learn about tact. You can’t just _say_ stuff like that to people.”  
  
Castiel looked puzzled. “Why not? It’s the truth.”  
  
“Free tip—sometimes we can’t handle the truth. Not those sorts of truths, and not like that.”  
  
“I don’t understand.”  
  
“They don’t teach you people skills in Heaven, huh?”  
  
“I don’t deal with people.”  
  
“Clearly. Look, people don’t like talking about death. Especially their own. And especially when some angel tells them they’re supposed to have checked out already.”  
  
Castiel looked like he was running all this information through his mind and carefully storing it away for future use.  
  
Dean got up, grabbing a beer from the fridge. “What were you supposed to do, anyway?” he asked, walking back over. “Were just gonna show up and say, hey, why didn’t you die?”  
  
“I was simply to investigate the surrounding circumstances. And we can walk unseen,” he added.  
  
Dean paused, taking a long swallow of beer. He sat down on the couch again. “You said it’s a big thing when something like this happens. Weird stuff?”  
  
“Yes. It takes something considerable to change what has already begun. Generally something not of your world.”  
  
“Sam…” Dean paused again, focusing on the rim of the bottle. “Sam’s psychic. He doesn’t like talking about it. He hates having it. But ever since we were kids, he’d just _know_ things sometimes. From little things like who was on the phone to full blown visions.”  
  
“Did he have such a vision of Jessica?”  
  
Dean nodded, glancing at Castiel, who was watching him patiently. “It was the freakiest thing I’ve ever seen. Me and Sam were out having a drink when he just jumped up, blurted ‘Jess!’ and bolted. Ran five blocks back to their apartment like a fucking Olympic athlete. I caught up to see him carrying her out, unconscious. The place was a fucking inferno by then.” Dean took another drink. “No one knows how it started or why the alarms didn’t go off. But Jess was fine after they got some oxygen in her. The next night, you did your impression of a shooting star, and here we are.”  
  
Castiel seemed to be contemplating things.  
  
“Well?” Dean asked.  
  
“It’s quite possible that your brother was responsible for averting her death,” he said after considering it. “True psychics are rare, but they do exist. And they have been known to alter what should be.”  
  
“Then there’s your big mystery solved.”  
  
There was a silence, and Dean felt Castiel studying him.  
  
“There’s something else you want to say,” Castiel said. He just waited.  
  
Damn mind reading angels. “Can families be cursed?” Dean blurted.  
  
“Yes.” Then Castiel tilted his head slightly, staring past Dean like he was reading something hidden. “But yours is not.”  
  
“Well, good.”  
  
Castiel still had that searching look. “How did your parents die?”  
  
“You know what? This heart to heart is over.” Dean stood, glaring down at Castiel. “In a fire,” he barked. “You want to know more, why don’t you pull it out of my head?”  
  
“Because you don’t want me to,” Castiel said simply, looking so sincere that it almost made Dean feel bad.  
  
“I don’t want to talk about it, Cas,” he said. Dean went into the kitchen. “You want anything to eat?”  
  
“I don’t require it.”  
  
“Suit yourself.”  
  
It was afternoon, but Dean still felt like breakfast, so he got out a skillet and some sausage. He nearly knocked the box that contained Jessica’s ring off the counter in the process. Yesterday, he’d set it there after he’d nearly thrown it in the laundry with his jeans. And that was after he’d forgotten about it and taken it to work with him. At this point, he wasn’t sure why Sam had given him the thing. He clearly wasn’t to be trusted with it.  
  
Once he had the food cooking, Dean opened the ring box. “They’re getting married, y’know,” he said. “Sam and Jess.”  
  
“I see,” Castiel said.  
  
Dean laid the ring flat on the table and threw the burnt up box away. He opened a drawer to get a Ziploc bag to put the ring in. When he turned around, Castiel was standing at the table.  
  
Castiel picked up the ring, turning it over in his fingers like it was a completely foreign object.  
  
“I’m sorry I frightened Jessica,” he said. “It was not my intent.”  
  
The next instant, the ring was clean—brilliant and shining.  
  
Dean stared. “How did you do that?”  
  
“I told you—”  
  
“Right,” Dean scoffed. “If that’s a parlor trick, then what the hell can you _actually_ do? And better yet, why aren’t you doing it? Why aren’t any of you doing it?”  
  
“I don’t understand.” Castiel set the ring on the table.  
  
“I bet you could have saved Jess with a snap of your fingers,” Dean said, taking a step forward. “But no, you only show up to find out why she _didn’t_ die. What the hell? I thought angels were supposed to be guardians.”  
  
“We don’t interfere in human affairs.”  
  
“Yeah? Why the fuck not?”  
  
“It negates free will.”  
  
“Then what are any of you good for?” Dean demanded. “I bet there are thousands of you. You could be helping people, saving people. You can’t tell me everything bad that happens would mess with free will.”  
  
“And would that be fair? To assist some but not others?” Castiel was getting into his space now. “What would you have us do? Save one person but not another? Stop one disaster, but not another?”  
  
“It would be something!”  
  
“It doesn’t work like that, Dean.”  
  
Dean felt like Castiel was staring straight through him. “So it has to be all or nothing, is that it?”  
  
“Yes,” Castiel said severely.  
  
“Maybe it should be all, then.”  
  
“This is not our world to build.” Castiel took another step forward. “What you’re describing is Paradise. No pain, no suffering—no choices. Is that what you want? An angelic dictatorship?” Castiel had him backed into the cabinets now. “You want to know what I can do?” he asked. “I can create matter with a thought. I can bend time. I can alter reality. But I do none of these things because angels are agents of fate, not architects of it.”  
  
Dean swallowed. Castiel’s face was vacant and his eyes were fierce, and it was so different from the angel’s usual countenance that it made Dean’s head spin. He made a mental note not to piss the guy off.  
  
And just as suddenly, the moment passed. “Your food is burning,” Castiel said calmly. Without even using a hotpot holder, he picked up the cast iron skillet and dumped the sausages on to the plate. Then he moved away and sat down at the table.  
  
Even though he obviously had no intention of eating.  
  
Dean exhaled, then picked up his plate and his bottle and took a seat himself.  
  
“I’m sorry you lost your parents,” Castiel said.  
  
Dean nodded in acknowledgment. It didn’t take a mind reading angel to realize that ‘Why couldn’t you save Mom and Dad?’ was all over that outburst.  
  
“I don’t believe in angels, or God,” Dean said. “Well, didn’t. Guess I have to now, huh?” he said with a mirthless smirk. “You’re pretty much solid proof. But too much bad shit happens in the world. I never got why should I have faith in something that doesn’t lift a finger for us, even if it exists.”  
  
“I understand the difficulty.”  
  
“Even finding out you’re real doesn’t make me want to turn all choir boy. Do you even care about the poor saps down here?”  
  
Castiel was silent, and after a moment of not getting a reply out of him, Dean started to eat.  
  
“We kill demons,” Castiel stated.  
  
Dean raised an eyebrow. “Come again?”  
  
“There are angels on Earth. They kill demons. And other creatures.”  
  
Dean laughed. “What, like vampires and werewolves?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
He laid his fork down. “You’re serious.”  
  
“Yes. There are all manner of evil beings that prey on humans.”  
  
“How come no one’s ever seen them?”  
  
“A few have. Very few. We’re extremely good at what we do.” A hint of a smile. “I believe you call it smiting.”  
  
Dean was silent, and Castiel continued.  
  
“It’s true that we do not interfere in the human world, but we are vigilant in guarding it from the supernatural.” He spoke with quiet conviction. “Everything in this world is a work of art, and it is our privilege to protect it. Angels were made to serve mankind, and we have always done so.”  
  
Dean didn’t know what to say, but Castiel was obviously not going to break eye contact until he said something.  
  
“Guess I have to take part of that back,” he finally said. “Sorry. You’re not just sitting on your asses all day long while we’re suffering down here. What you do—it sounds good.” He paused. “That’s why you look into deaths that aren’t deaths? Because it could be something supernatural?”  
  
“That is correct.”  
  
“But Sam’s all right, isn’t he?” Dean asked. “His thing isn’t bad?”  
  
Castiel shook his head. “No. Some humans are simply more in tune with the worlds beyond them. But there’s nothing evil about it.”  
  
Dean nodded. “Thanks, Cas.” He found that he really meant it.  
  
He called Sam on his way to work that night. “You want the good news, Sammy, or the really good news?”  
  
“What are you talking about?”  
  
“The good news is that you’re a freak of nature,” Dean said. “Not that I haven’t known that for years. The really good news is that your freaky vision is what saved Jess. You’re reason she didn’t die when she was supposed to.”  
  
“That’s what Castiel said?”  
  
“Yep.”  
  
“And that’s it? There’s not going to be some weird do over accident waiting for her?”  
  
“Cas says no. She missed the boat, and the ship’s not coming back for her.”  
  
“That’s great.” Sam sounded relieved. “I just want to put this whole thing behind us. Forget about angels and visions and fires.”  
  
“Yeah, I hear you.” Except he didn’t want to forget about Castiel, not really. “Look, Cas said your visions are normal. Well, not _normal_ , but he talked about psychics like it wasn’t a big thing. You’re just different.”  
  
“Story of my life,” Sam muttered. “Not being able to tell people things, them thinking I’m a weirdo, seeing things I can’t control… But— If being different kept Jess alive, then, I’m glad I’m different.”  
  
“Is she okay?”  
  
“A little weirded out, but she’s calmed down. I mean, being told you should have died isn’t like being told you’re going to die. I’m not sure she wants to see Castiel again, though.”  
  
“I don’t blame her, I guess.”  
  
“But I’d still like a chance to talk to him sometime,” Sam said.  
  
Dean could tell that Sam was slipping into geek mode, even over the phone. “You know he’s not going to just sit down and answer questions for you,” Dean said. “He doesn’t really talk about that stuff.”  
  
Unless you were Dean and could get him admit things like the fact that he could _bend time_ when you weren’t even trying.  
  
“Just ten minutes,” Sam said. “Five minutes.”  
  
“Dude, you can talk to him all you want. I’m not his keeper. I’m just saying don’t get your hopes up.”  
  
“How long is he going to be here?”  
  
Huh. Dean realized he hadn’t once asked Castiel how long it would take for him to heal. It seemed like something he should have asked, yet it had never come up.  
  
“Dean?”  
  
“He’ll be around.” Until he fixed himself and just disappeared between dimensions like he’d never existed at all.  
  
“For…?”  
  
Dean shrugged, even though Sam couldn’t see it. “He’ll be around.”


	5. Chapter 5

Dean came home from work to find Castiel watching TV.  
  
“This is highly inaccurate,” he informed Dean, gesturing to the set.  
  
Dean saw that Castiel was watching some religious program. “Yeah, that’s what two thousand years of the telephone game will get you.” He paused. “Seriously? You’re actually watching this?”  
  
“I was merely curious.”  
  
“Knock yourself out,” Dean said, shrugging off his coat. “As long as you don’t start calling in.”  
  
“I think I prefer the factual programs,” Castiel said.  
  
Dean had shown Castiel how to work the TV earlier, since it was really the only thing to do in the apartment. He didn’t know what angels did for fun when they had downtime, but the thought of Castiel just _sitting there_ all day while Dean was at work was pathetic. At least he was sort of doing something while watching TV. So far, Castiel seemed the most interested in the History Channel.  
  
When Dean had wondered out loud if watching so much about war was really presenting the best picture of things, Castiel had said, ‘I have been watching humanity for some time. I’m aware there’s more than this.’ Dean had also learned that while Castiel might have the equivalent of a cushy desk job in Heaven, all angels were soldiers first—‘Warriors of God,’ which actually sounded ominous the way Castiel said it.  
  
“Look,” Dean said, “I’m beat. I need to go to sleep.”  
  
Castiel considered this. “Goodnight,” he said.  
  
“I mean I need to go to sleep out here. I don’t really think you’re gonna fit on the couch.”  
  
“Oh. I won’t be sleeping.”  
  
Dean chuckled. “Yeah, that’s what you said yesterday.”  
  
“That was… unexpected. But I’m recovering now.”  
  
“So you’re just gonna stay up all night?”  
  
Castiel frowned slightly. “What else would I do?” The concept of sleeping and waking every day clearly escaped him.  
  
“You guys really don’t sleep, huh?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Well, there’s the TV, I guess. I’ve got some books under the coffee table if you get bored with that.”  
  
Dean didn’t have that many books. When he wanted to read something, he went to the library. Sam was the one who had to own every book he’d ever read. His library was one thing he had been truly devastated about losing.  
  
“So you’re good out here?” Dean asked.  
  
“Yes. Thank you.”  
  
“Okay, dude. See you in the morning.”  
  
“Sleep well, Dean.”  
  
\-----  
  
When Dean woke up the next morning and came out of the bedroom, he found Castiel standing at the kitchen window and peering between a crack in the curtains. Dean knew there wasn’t much to see out there. Just a strip of grass, a small tree that had obviously been planted when the apartments were built, and then the road.  
  
“You must hate being cooped up in here,” Dean said.  
  
“Good morning. I do feel… confined,” he admitted. “Though I mean no slight to your home.”  
  
“Don’t worry, I get it. You can’t even go outside. I’d get cabin fever, and I live here.”  
  
Dean put water in the coffee pot and pulled out a package of bacon. Not feeling up to actually cooking, he slapped a few pieces down on a plate and shoved it in the microwave. Which whirred and sputtered like it was dying when he pushed the button.  
  
“What the hell?” he muttered.  
  
Castiel looked apologetic and moved away from the window, taking a few steps back from the cabinets. “I believe I’m interfering with it.”  
  
Dean’s brows shot up as the microwave started to function normally. He remembered the flickering lights from the first night. “Is that a regular thing with you?”  
  
“Grace is a very particular kind of energy,” Castiel said.  
  
“Uh-huh. Remind me not to let you near my computer.”  
  
“I’ve been told we have problems with electronics sometimes.” He was watching the microwave curiously.  
  
“Been told?”  
  
Castiel sat down at the table. “I haven’t been on Earth since the development of technology.”  
  
“When’s the last time you were here?”  
  
“Three hundred and seventeen years ago.”  
  
“Yeah, that’s been a while.” Dean didn’t really know what to say to that. But a second later he frowned, recalling how Castiel couldn’t talk to them in the beginning. “I’m not Sam, but I’m pretty sure English had started three hundred years ago.” He wasn’t sure if there was a special word for when languages turned into other languages. Sam would know.  
  
“I was in Italy then,” Castiel said. “For a day.”  
  
“So basically, you don’t get out much,” Dean said, taking his food out of the microwave.  
  
“My duties were in Heaven. Are in Heaven,” he clarified.  
  
Dean shrugged, sitting down after pouring himself a cup of coffee. “Three hundred years—well, you look good for your age,” he joked.  
  
Castiel seemed puzzled. “All angels are as old as Creation.”  
  
That gave him pause. “Dude, you’ve been around since forever? Seriously?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Castiel was really fucking old. It was kind of unimaginable. And cool. Freaky, but cool.  
  
“We don’t measure time,” Castiel said. “Until humanity, we had no concept of time as you think of it. There was never ‘was’ or ‘will be’, but only ‘is’. Eternity in every moment.”  
  
“That’s kind of… scarily awesome.” Dean cleared his throat. “Hey, Cas, I was gonna ask, why aren’t any of the other angels looking for you?”  
  
“My absence won’t be quickly noticed. There was no set amount of time for me to complete my task.”  
  
“And you can’t use your mojo to signal them for help?”  
  
Castiel seemed thoughtful. “I could probably manage it now, but I see no reason to.”  
  
“Because you don’t want them to know how you got hurt?”  
  
“Because I see no reason to,” Castiel repeated, giving him that meaningful stare. “I’m in no jeopardy, and I will heal.”  
  
“Right,” Dean said uncomfortably. “Cause you weren’t too crazy about being dependent on us humans at first.”  
  
Castiel tilted his head slightly, still watching him. “I’m not displeased with being here.”  
  
Just then, Dean’s phone rang.  
  
It was Sam.  
  
“Bobby got the results on the fire investigation back,” Sam said. “It was wiring. It started in the fixture on the bedroom ceiling. Which is good, because the landlord had been trying to blame it on us, saying Jess had probably left a candle going or something.”  
  
“Bobby,” Dean said to himself.  
  
“Dean? What about Bobby?”  
  
“Nothing. I just thought of something,” he said, his eyes settling on Castiel. “So what now?”  
  
“We’re going to be looking for a new place. But I’m not sure if we should be looking at apartments or houses. I could probably get a mortgage if we found something we wanted to buy. Though I should actually propose before we start buying houses.”  
  
“Hey, about that. You need to come get this ring, man. I don’t know how much you paid for it, but it makes me nervous with it just sitting here.”  
  
“Dean, come on.”  
  
“I almost threw it in the washer the other day!”  
  
Dean could practically hear Sam rolling his eyes. “Okay, I’ll swing by at lunch and pick it up.”  
  
After another moment, Dean hung up. Then he stood, looking down at Castiel. “We’re going on a trip,” he announced.  
  
“A trip?” Castiel said, quizzical.  
  
“Hey, if you’re not gonna be on Earth for another three hundred years, you’ve gotta see what’s awesome about it. And I know you want to get out of here. Just give me a minute.”  
  
\-----  
  
Sam arrived after noon, dressed in a suit.  
  
“Aw, look at you in your lawyer getup,” Dean said. “And your man purse.”  
  
That got him Sam’s We’ve-been-over-this Bitchface. “It’s a _briefcase_ , Dean.”  
  
“It’s all shiny. With a shoulder strap. That’s a purse, dude.”  
  
“Briefcase.”  
  
“What do you think, Cas?” Dean asked.  
  
Castiel regarded them from the couch. “We don’t have purses in Heaven,” he said, like it was a matter of grave importance.  
  
“What do you keep your stuff in?” Sam asked.  
  
“We pull it out of the ether.”  
  
Sam chuckled, but Dean kind of thought Castiel was being completely serious.  
  
“So, the ring,” Dean said.  
  
“Since I’m getting it, I thought I’d go ahead and take it to the jeweler.”  
  
“No need.” He got the Ziploc bag and handed it to Sam.  
  
“Whoa,” Sam said, holding it up to the light. “This looks amazing. What did you do?”  
  
Dean shrugged. “Cas just zapped it. Good as new.”  
  
“Wow. Thank you,” Sam said to Castiel.  
  
Castiel just nodded.  
  
“Hey,” Dean said to Sam, “I was gonna tell you that you and Jess can stay here. Stop paying for a hotel, for a few days at least. Bobby said I could use his hunting cabin.”  
  
“You’re going hunting?”  
  
“No, just getting away.”  
  
Sam frowned. “Why?”  
  
“I just thought it would be good,” Dean said, not sure why he was feeling defensive. “Cas could actually go outside there—it’s in the middle of nowhere.”  
  
“I would enjoy being outdoors,” Castiel said solemnly. “Though I told Dean it wasn’t needed.”  
  
“It’s no problem,” Dean said. “Bobby’s not using it, Sam can keep some of his money, and the angel can stop watching cable. Everybody wins.”  
  
Dean’s phone rang. “Hold on,” he muttered.  
  
“Hey, Jo,” he answered.  
  
“Why didn’t you tell me you were going away for the weekend?” she asked.  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“Come on, Dean, I had to hear from my mother that you were taking time off.”  
  
Dean turned away from Sam, walking a few steps toward the kitchen. “What, you want to come?”  
  
An exasperated sigh. “ _No_. I don’t care if you go hunting. But don’t you think that’s the sort of thing you’re supposed to tell me?”  
  
“Right.”  
  
There was a pause. “You’re not going to make me regret agreeing to go out with you, are you?”  
  
“I’m not trying to,” he said, lowering his voice.  
  
“Is there someone there?”  
  
“No! No one’s here. Just Sam.”  
  
“Thanks,” Sam said.  
  
Dean turned to glare at him.  
  
“Hi, Jo,” Sam said loudly. “Don’t worry, it’s just secret brother stuff!”  
  
Only Sam could get away with saying ‘secret brother stuff’ like that. Probably because Jo still treated him like he was fourteen, even though he towered over her now. It was probably the puppy eyes.  
  
“Okay,” Jo said. “Sorry. But seriously, Dean, you’ve been sort of… off the last few days.”  
  
“Off how?”  
  
“I don’t know. You just seem distracted.”  
  
“Well, in a few days, I won’t be. I’ll be back, good as new.”  
  
“Okay.” She still sounded doubtful. “Have fun, I guess. Bye.”  
  
“Bye.” Dean hung up.  
  
Sam was staring at him, suddenly inscrutable.  
  
“What?” Dean snapped.  
  
“Nothing. So you really don’t mind us staying here?”  
  
“I said you could, didn’t I? You can come by after work, we’ll be gone by then.”  
  
“All right. Thanks. I should be getting back, though.”  
  
Dean nodded.  
  
After Sam left, Dean threw some things in a duffel bag for himself. He traveled light, and Castiel didn’t need anything, so getting ready to go didn’t take long.  
  
When he came back to the living room, Castiel had on his suit jacket and was holding the trench coat. He looked uncertain. “I don’t want to inconvenience you,” he said.  
  
“What are you talking about?”  
  
“Your idea to get away seems to be causing tension. It wasn’t necessary for you to take leave from your job.”  
  
“Cas, it’s fine. Besides, it’s not like I can tell them what’s really going on. And this will be fun. Angels _can_ have fun, right?”  
  
Castiel seemed amused. “Yes, we can have fun.”  
  
Then he draped the trench coat over his shoulders to cover his wings. He still looked a little odd, and the tips of his wings could be seen peeking out at the bottom, but he was passable enough to get from the apartment to the Impala.  
  
Once at the car, Castiel hesitated and then got into the back.  
  
Dean slid into the front seat. “You’re gonna sit back there?”  
  
“I think it would be easier.”  
  
“Makes me feel like a damn chauffeur,” Dean grumbled. He pulled the Impala on to the road. “And you’d better not molt all over my backseat.”  
  
“I do not molt,” Castiel said, sounding affronted.  
  
Obviously cars were not designed for people with wings. Castiel ended up sitting nearly in the middle of the backseat, leaning forward so that the ends of his wings could fall in the floorboard. Weirdly, it put him closer to Dean than if he’d been sitting in the passenger seat.  
  
Dean drove around Lawrence a little bit, pointing out things to Castiel as they passed them. And awesome as the Impala was, even Dean had to admit that there wasn’t much he could do from it besides show Castiel awesome things and inform him about how awesome they were. They couldn’t actually get out anywhere.  
  
Which was one of the reasons that they wound up at Dean’s favorite drive-through.  
  
“You’ve got to try something,” he said, looking over his shoulder.  
  
“I don’t require food.”  
  
“It’s not about requiring, Cas. It’s about wanting, enjoying.”  
  
Castiel narrowed his eyes slightly, like he was trying to solve a riddle.  
  
Dean turned back around and ordered from the speaker. He got two cheeseburgers, a super order of shoestring fries, a Coke, and a vanilla malt.  
  
He passed the malt to Castiel. “Here. You can’t go wrong with this.”  
  
Castiel looked at the cup skeptically. But he took an experimental sip.  
  
“Well?”  
  
“It’s not unappealing,” he pronounced.   
  
They ended up in a park, the Impala sitting at one end of the parking lot while Dean ate his food. He’d convinced Castiel to try the fries, which he seemed to like, since he kept asking for more. They ate in companionable silence, Castiel watching the children who were playing behind them.  
  
A fire truck drove down the road beside the park. It didn’t have its lights or sirens on, but it was like it was some fucking sign from God.   
  
Or maybe the sign from God was sitting in his backseat.  
  
“My dad was a firefighter,” Dean said with a sigh. “That’s how he died.”  
  
“My condolences.”  
  
Dean nodded, but didn’t turn around. It was easier to say if he was just saying it.  
  
“Our mom died when I was eight. Sam was just four. Our house burned down. It was a freak accident, but it really messed Dad up. He was a firefighter—his wife shouldn’t have died in a fucking fire. He was fucked up for a while after that.” Dean paused. “Even after he went back to work, he—a fire’s a thing, y’know? You can’t be mad at it, you can’t get revenge on it—so it wasn’t like that. But nobody else was gonna die on John Winchester’s watch. He took stupid risks, went back into buildings when the order was given to clear out. And he saved a lot of people. But it got him in the end.”  
  
Dean risked a glance behind him, expecting anything from angelic detachment to pity. But all he saw was compassion. “How old were you?” Castiel asked.  
  
“Eighteen. Where I work right now—the owner, Ellen… it was when her house burned down that Dad died. It started because her husband got drunk and left his cigarette burning. It was an old house and it went up quick. Dad got Jo out and went back in. But he never came out.” Dean swallowed. “I didn’t even know for days. I’d taken off the day I graduated, was on an indefinite road trip and in the middle of Bumfuck, Ohio when I finally called in. Sam had been staying with Bobby, or Ellen when Bobby was working at the station. We didn’t even know Ellen then. She’d never laid eyes on Sam before, but it didn’t matter. Our dad had saved her little girl, and had died trying to save her husband, and she was gonna do whatever she could. And that’s that.”   
  
Dean twisted in the seat. “There’s my life story. Your turn.”  
  
“Mine would take considerably longer to tell,” Castiel said, expressionless.  
  
Dean laughed. Somehow, that had been the exact right thing to say. Castiel had wanted to know, and Dean had told him, but that was it. He didn’t want to discuss it any further than that, even with an angel.  
  
“But thank you,” Castiel said, like Dean had just given him some gift.  
  
“I don’t get it, why do you care?”  
  
“It helps me know you better.”  
  
“And why do you want to do that?”  
  
Castiel tilted his head, staring at Dean like he was truly mystifying. “Why wouldn’t I?” he asked sincerely.  
  
Dean could think of lots of answers, but he suddenly couldn’t find his voice to give any of them.


	6. Chapter 6

He and Castiel were over an hour outside of Lawrence when Dean stopped at a combination gas station/grocery store and bought junk food, beer, anything he could cook over an open fire, and ice for the cooler that would be at the cabin. A few miles later down the road, he turned off the highway. From that it was another few miles and a turn on a dirt road, and then onto something that was barely a path in the grass—which he would never drive the Impala on if it had been raining. A tow truck would cost a freaking fortune from out here.  
  
Bobby’s cabin was in the middle of fucking nowhere. Dean had no idea when it had been built and ‘rustic’ didn’t quite cover it. It was a remnant from a century ago and staying there was practically camping. There wasn’t electricity, and someone had only drilled a well to get running water sometime in the sixties. It was one room, two cots, a table and a fireplace.  
  
In short, it was awesome.  
  
The cabin’s ‘driveway’ lasted for several miles, and _No Trespassing_ signs were nailed to the trees at regular intervals. But Dean wasn’t worried about anyone being out here, even other hunters. Both Bobby and Rufus, the guy Bobby had bought the cabin from, had gotten the reputation as crotchety old men with rifles who liked to shoot first and ask questions later.   
  
So there was no chance of anyone else seeing Castiel out here.  
  
The cabin finally came into view, and a moment later, Dean was pulling the Impala up beside it. He shut off the engine and opened his door.  
  
Castiel got out of the backseat, looking over his surroundings.  
  
“It’s not much,” Dean said.  
  
“I don’t require much.”  
  
Dean unlocked the cabin with the hidden key and unloaded the car. He filled up the cooler and pulled two foldable chairs out on the tiny porch. It was the end of summer, so he didn’t need to worry about having a fire in the cabin itself. They were set. Set for… whatever they were going to do.   
  
Dean remembered the occasional trip with his dad to actually hunt, but he remembered much better Bobby letting him bring Sam up here on school vacations. And Sam was a giant girl who wouldn’t shoot at anything alive, so their trips had pretty much consisted of sleeping, going fishing, shooting at cans, and setting off illegal fireworks.   
  
None of which Dean could picture Castiel doing. He had a moment of panic that this had been a horrible idea, that there was nothing for the Castiel to actually _do_ here, until he caught sight of him.  
  
The angel was still standing outside, staring at his surroundings and looking so serene that Dean felt like he was interrupting.  
  
But then Castiel turned to look at him. “It’s very nice here.”  
  
“Yeah, it is.”  
  
Castiel pulled the trench coat from around his shoulders, revealing his wings again. Then the coat simply vanished from his hands.  
  
“I put it inside,” he said, upon seeing Dean’s surprised face.  
  
Dean nodded. “Look, I know there’s not much to do here—”  
  
“We’re not as concerned with having something to ‘do’ as humans seem to be.”  
  
“Well, that’s good,” Dean said, walking to where Castiel was standing. “Cause the point of being someplace like this is to get away from it all.”  
  
“All of what?”  
  
Dean chuckled. “You know, work, stress, life.”  
  
“Why would you want to get away from life?” Castiel asked, frowning.  
  
“I mean the bad parts, Cas. Surely you’ve heard of a vacation?”  
  
“I am familiar with the concept.”  
  
“You don’t have vacations in Heaven, huh? Course, I guess being dead is one big vacation.” Dean shrugged. “But don’t you guys ever get time off?”  
  
“Not as such.”  
  
“Well, that sucks. But lucky for you, you’ve got an unofficial vacation on Earth.”  
  
“Yes,” Castiel agreed. “And what does one do on vacation?”  
  
“Nothing. But there’s a stream about half a mile from here. It’s always better doing nothing by the water.”  
  
Castiel seemed to accept his expertise in the matter. Dean grabbed a beer, and then they started walking.  
  
Even in his suit, Castiel looked like he belonged here, which made Dean think even more that getting him out of the apartment was a good idea. Though Castiel was also taking in the woods like he’d never seen any before—kind of strange for a guy who was apparently old as Earth. The woods were nothing to write home about.  
  
“You guys really don’t get out much, do you?”  
  
“Earth was God’s gift to Man,” Castiel said. “Many of us never have the opportunity to take pleasure in its beauty.”  
  
Being an angel kind of sounded like it was all work and no play. “Well, that’s the point of this, right? Seeing part of Earth.”  
  
“Indeed.”  
  
Dean only found it slightly weird that his feet were the only ones making noise as they strode through the underbrush.  
  
“Do you and your brother come here often?” Castiel asked.  
  
“Not so much anymore. When Sam was growing up, we used to. But then he went to college, law school, met Jess, got a job… We didn’t see each other that much until he moved back.”  
  
“You’re proud of him,” Castiel observed.  
  
“Well, yeah. He’s the first one in our family to go to school. He got a full ride, too. Which was a damn good thing, cause there was no way I could pay for him. But Sammy really made something of himself.” Dean could hear the pride in his own voice now, but he didn’t care. If he couldn’t brag about Sam once in a while, what was the point of being related to the brainy freak? “He could have gone anywhere after he graduated, but he came back home. Sam never wanted to be some corporate lawyer; he wanted to help people, make a difference. And he and Jess have been together for years—they’re serious enough that she moved here with him—but Sam didn’t want to actually propose until he had a job, something solid to offer. I’m—I’m happy for him, you know?”  
  
“You seem very close.”  
  
“Hard not be. He’s the only family I’ve got. I practically raised him.”  
  
Dean expected Castiel to ask for clarification, but he said nothing.  
  
A few minutes later, they reached the stream. It was deep enough to fish in, and just wide enough that it could usually be jumped. Dean settled on a clear spot on the bank, and Castiel stood by the edge of the water. Then he looked back at Dean.  
  
“Would you remove the wrappings, please?” he said, nodding to his wing.  
  
“Uh, sure.” Dean stood up. “Are you already healed?”  
  
“No. I can’t fly, but I don’t believe it needs to be restricted any longer.”  
  
“All right.” Dean moved behind Castiel and carefully started unwrapping the bandages from around his wing. “You’re sure this feels okay?” he asked, when he was halfway through.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Dean finished removing the bandages, and was secretly relieved when Castiel’s wing didn’t bend or sag or fall off without the support. Several feathers were stuck in the material of the bandage, and Dean cringed apologetically when Castiel turned around.  
  
But he just seemed quietly amused. “They do come out sometimes, Dean.”  
  
“Right.” Dean held the feathers in his hand for a moment, wondering what he was supposed to do with _angel feathers_. Then he remembered that Castiel had just thrown them away in the trashcan at home. Still, it felt disrespectful—and when the hell did he start caring about being respectful—to just drop them on the ground. But that’s what Dean did.  
  
Castiel didn’t care one way or the other. He’d already turned back to the stream.  
  
Huh. They looked like any other sort of feather just lying in the grass.   
  
Dean sat down on the bank, taking another drink of his beer. The late afternoon sun was filtering through the trees and it felt really fucking good to be away from everything and doing nothing.  
  
Castiel took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. He knelt on a rock that jutted out over the stream, and twisted his body to dip the wing that had been injured under the water. Then he straightened up and began combing his fingers through the feathers.  
  
Dean found himself watching with a weird sort of absorption. He wasn’t usually down with the rude staring, but how often did you get to see an angel mess with their wings? Besides, Castiel did enough weird staring; he couldn’t complain about receiving some in return.  
  
“So can you move that yet?” Dean asked.  
  
“Some.”  
  
Dean watched as Castiel shifted the wing experimentally. He moved the other one at the same time, extending it fully and then positioning it straight up behind him. Even with one wing still mostly immobile, he looked beautiful.  
  
And fuck, where had that thought come from?  
  
Beautiful was not a word Dean used, even for girls, and certainly not for guys. Girls were pretty or hot or cute. And while he had been with the occasional guy, he tended to notice girls first, usually ended up going out with girls. Dean had recognized on some level that Castiel was good looking, but that had been the extent of it. He’d never had a thought beyond helping Castiel get what he needed. He was an _angel_ , for fuck’s sake, not someone he was checking out at the local bar.   
  
Besides, they were probably all beautiful. It was probably an angel thing.  
  
Though Dean wondered if they would all stare at him with that soul-searching gaze, like there was just something astonishing about him—like Castiel was doing right now.  
  
“It’s the wings,” Dean said, saying the first thing he could think of. He didn’t need Castiel reading his mind right now. “They’re kind of hard to miss.”  
  
“Would you like to see them?” Castiel asked.  
  
Dean was thrown for a minute. “Dude, I am seeing them.”  
  
Castiel stood and came to sit down facing Dean. “I meant a closer inspection.”  
  
And yeah, Dean had wondered about the wings. He might have even wondered what it would be like to touch the wings. But he wasn’t _Sam_ , wasn’t going to treat Castiel like some science project (or primary source for theology). And who knew how personal wings were for angels? Dean had been careful while doing the bandages to touch as little as possible. Hell, he’d touched Castiel as little as possible, period, treating him like any stranger he didn’t have some sort of relationship with.  
  
But now Castiel had his good wing half-extended and hovering just a foot in front of Dean’s face. It was bent at what looked like a relaxed angle, and the very tip brushed the grass. The feathers were pitch black with a dull shine to them, and Dean could see the different feather lengths as they overlapped each other.  
  
He started to touch, then stopped, then started again because he was sure Castiel wouldn’t be doing this if he wasn’t all right with Dean touching. Dean uncertainly ran his fingers over the longest feathers at the bottom, before moving his hand up to the top of the wing and feeling how it curved. Surreal was another word that Dean didn’t use, but this was really surreal. He was touching giant wings, which were attached to Castiel, an angel, who used them to fly. Surreal.  
  
Castiel was just watching him. Dean suddenly felt self-conscious, even though he was doing nothing more than Sam had done at the beginning. But that had been for medical reasons. This wasn’t.  
  
“What does it feel like?” he asked.  
  
“Like someone touching my wing,” Castiel said. He seemed to be getting a peculiar sort of kind amusement out of the whole thing.  
  
“Yeah, you must think we’re nuts,” Dean said, leaning back in the grass. He stretched his legs out and propped himself up on his elbows. “I mean, that would be like someone being really fascinated by my arm.”  
  
“From what I understand, humans are preoccupied with the idea of wings. They appear repeatedly in your myths.”  
  
“Not myths, apparently.”  
  
“Not all,” Castiel agreed.  
  
“So how touchy feely are you guys?” Dean asked, trying for casual. But he had to know if that was the angelic equivalent of slapping someone on the back, or if it was more like brushing their hair for ten minutes.  
  
“Not that different from yourselves. Acquaintances touch.”  
  
Right. So the wings weren’t, like, special or anything. Why would they be, anyway? All angels had wings—it was just humans like him who would want to touch them like they were something new.  
  
“And family?” Dean asked.  
  
Castiel paused, as if searching for the words. “We don’t have family as you do. We call each other brother and sister, but we’re not related as you think of it. We simply _are_.”  
  
“Huh.”  
  
After a moment, Castiel moved to lie down as Dean was doing. He settled on his stomach, leaning on his elbows. He shifted several times, like he didn’t quite know how to actually relax unless he forced to because of injury.  
  
Dean crossed his arms behind his head, looking up at the sky that could be seen through the treetops. The sun would be going down soon. He glanced up at Castiel.  
  
“I guess you can’t really do this?” Dean asked.  
  
“We can lie on our wings. Though obviously I cannot at present.”  
  
“Too bad. It’s the best way to watch stars.” He chuckled. “Though I bet stars aren’t anything you haven’t seen before.”  
  
“They do look different when viewed through the atmosphere,” Castiel said.  
  
“Yeah, but half the thing for us with stars is wondering. Feeling small. Looking up at something cosmic and forever. But dude, you _are_ cosmic and forever.”  
  
“Ah.” Castiel paused. “It’s true that space holds no mystery for us. But Creation is always beautiful and worth viewing.”  
  
“Huh,” Dean said again.  
  
He closed his eyes, relaxing as a slight breeze blew. When he opened them again, Castiel was intently studying a leaf, turning it over in his hands like it held the secrets of the universe.  
  
Hell, maybe it did.  
  
The wind blew again, and Dean had the thought that maybe while humans were always looking up, angels were always looking down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is as good a time as any to mention that the Heaven of this verse is not like the SPN Heaven. I thought about explaining it in the story, but working the fact that Heaven isn’t being all by yourself and reliving your memories into the prose itself is just awkward. Mainly because these characters wouldn’t have any expectation that it would be that. So, yeah. Heaven is a good place where you’re actually reunited with loved ones.


	7. Chapter 7

  
Dean slept alone in the cabin while Castiel did… whatever Castiel did all night outside. Dean figured he probably just sat there being angelic and communing with nature.  
  
When Dean woke up in the morning, he found that Castiel was definitely communing with nature. There were two fawns and a doe barely ten feet from the cabin. Castiel was sitting on the cabin steps in his trench coat, just watching them.  
  
“Good morning, Dean.”  
  
“Morning,” Dean mumbled. He half expected the deer to run at his presence, but they didn’t. “Did you, like, call them here?”  
  
“No. But they don’t object to my being here.”  
  
“Uh-huh.” This was turning into a fucking Disney movie. Dean half wondered when Snow White was going to show up. “I need coffee,” he mumbled, disappearing back inside.  
  
Most of the day was spent doing nothing. Dean built up the campfire from last night, and tried without success to get Castiel to eat any of the food he cooked for lunch or dinner. But Castiel resolutely declined the hamburgers and hot dogs.  
  
Dean thought he would surely find a winner with s’mores, but after watching Dean make one, Castiel only said, “They look unnecessarily messy.”  
  
Which was how they ended up after sunset that evening, sitting side by side in crappy camping chairs while Dean messed with the fire and waited for his dinner to settle so he could make more s’mores.  
  
It was Castiel who broke the silence.  
  
“May I ask you a question?”  
  
Dean took a drink of beer. “Shoot.”  
  
“Why do you ask me nothing?” Castiel said, glancing up from the fire to look at Dean.  
  
“What are you talking about? I asked you lots of stuff.”  
  
“Yes, about angels, and therefore myself. But none of what I gather are the usual questions.”  
  
“What, you mean like, ‘Is there a God, Heaven, all that?’” Dean slouched back in his chair. “Thought you weren’t supposed to spill on the secrets of the universe.”  
  
Castiel tilted his head. “That doesn’t usually stop people from asking.”  
  
“Well, you’re real. And you pretty much said you work in Heaven, so that’s real. At this point, I’m guessing God’s real, too.” Dean shrugged. “I’m good to go. As much as I can be.”  
  
“What do you mean by that?”  
  
“I mean it doesn’t matter.” Dean finished what was in his bottle. “There’s a Heaven. Great. I’ll either get in or I won’t. But I’m not changing my life just to get in good with the man upstairs. I bet God’s not down with that anyway, is he? People only being good to get into Heaven?”  
  
Castiel looked saddened, as if Dean had deeply disappointed him. “What makes you think you’re not good?”  
  
“Come on, Cas, let’s not do this.” Dean poked the fire, watching as sparks flew up.  
  
“Do what?”  
  
“How the hell am I supposed to know what’s good?” Dean asked, meeting Castiel’s gaze like he’d been challenged. “I don’t exactly follow the Bible, and I don’t think I’m gonna start now. I haven’t even read the Bible.”  
  
“Reading the Bible is not required.”  
  
“I don’t pray,” Dean countered. “I don’t go to church.”  
  
“God is everywhere.”  
  
“I curse.”  
  
“I’ve noticed.”  
  
“I drink.”  
  
“Many do.”  
  
“I sleep around.”  
  
“Perhaps not commendable, but not punishable by Hell.”  
  
“Then what do you go to Hell for?”  
  
“Nothing you’ve done,” Castiel said evenly.  
  
“Yeah?” Dean scoffed. “You sure it wasn’t saving an angel that earned me a place upstairs?”  
  
“That earned you my attention, nothing more.”  
  
Dean knew Castiel couldn’t have meant that the way it sounded. Also, he was pretty sure that having any thoughts about an angel that weren’t strictly angelic was a one-way ticket downstairs.  
  
“It’s not,” Castiel said.  
  
“Dammit, what did I say about reading my mind?”  
  
“You’re thinking very loudly.”  
  
“You know what? Fine,” Dean snapped. “Long as you’re rummaging around in my head, why don’t you tell me why I’m good, huh? Go for it.”  
  
“You’re selfless,” Castiel said automatically. “And righteous.” Then his eyes narrowed slightly in concentration, and Dean could almost feel Castiel looking through him. “You have a great instinct to help people. You place strangers’ safety above your own.”  
  
Dean frowned. “No, I don’t.”  
  
Castiel tilted his head further. “You step into fights at your place of employment. You always pull over when you see a broken vehicle on the road.”  
  
“That’s just being decent,” Dean said.  
  
“You stopped a man from being mugged once. You gave money to a runaway whose father beat her. You took a man to the hospital after a car hit him and drove away. You—”  
  
“Dude, enough with the ‘This is your life, Dean Winchester.’ I get it. Little things add up.”  
  
“No. Dean, there is no scoreboard.” Castiel was still staring intently at him, but it was no longer soul searching. And now Dean could classify different types of angel stares. Great. “These little things, as you call them, are not getting you something. They’re simply the outward evidence of who you already are—a good person. Why do you judge yourself so harshly?”  
  
Dean did look away then. “Why don’t you just find the answer yourself?”  
  
“Because I want to hear it from you.”  
  
Dean focused on the fire, not saying anything. Then he sighed. Fuck it. If he couldn’t even talk to an angel, he was seriously screwed up. And it wasn’t like it mattered. Castiel wouldn’t tell anyone, or judge him, or even be around that much longer.  
  
“Nothing I did was ever good enough,” he finally said.  
  
“Who said you weren’t good enough?”  
  
“My dad, all right?” Dean said, kicking at the fire and sending up a shower of sparks. He turned to look at Castiel. “Ever since Mom died, it was always ‘take care of Sammy,’ even though I was only eight fucking years old. We were practically latchkey kids—home alone for hours before Dad showed up, alone some nights. And I was supposed to take care of Sam. By the time I was sixteen, I was fucking sick of it. Hell, by then, Sam was older than I was when the whole thing started, and more responsible. Always came right in, did his homework, fixed his food. Things weren’t good between me and Dad, which was why I took off when I was eighteen.”  
  
Dean paused, swallowing. Castiel just waited patiently for him to continue. “Then Dad died. And I almost lost Sam. He was fourteen, and they didn’t think I could provide a ‘stable environment.’ I had to get my shit together quick. I got jobs full time—minimum wage crap that you only need a diploma for. Ellen let me come to the Roadhouse after hours to do cleanup and paid me under the table. I got us a place to live and paid for whatever Sam needed until he graduated. We had some help, but it was still up to me to hold it all together.”  
  
“You had to grow up quickly,” Castiel said.  
  
“Yeah.” Dean really needed another beer right now.  
  
“You gave everything to raise your brother. That’s admirable, Dean. I’m sure your father would be proud.”  
  
“I guess.” Dean chuckled mirthlessly. “You know, when I was a kid, I wanted to be just like him. I was going to grow up and be a fireman just like Dad. But then I saw how messed up it made him, how he started to hate it but couldn’t quit.”  
  
“Yet you keep measuring yourself against his words.”  
  
“Sam, sometimes,” Dean blurted.  
  
Castiel frowned. “Sam’s words?”  
  
“Dammit, I don’t know. Just Sam. He made something of himself—he’s got something solid. He’s the one with the good job, the steady relationship, the life that’s put together. He actually did something with his life besides watching it go by.”  
  
“I don’t understand. Are you not doing something?”  
  
Dean snorted. “I’m always doing something, and it’s always different. I’m thirty and I’m living like I did ten years ago. Jobs come and go, but they never turn into anything. Hell, I’m not even sure I want them to. People come and go, but I’m not sure I wanted any of them to stay, either.”  
  
Castiel seemed to process this. “What do you want?”  
  
What did he want? Maybe if he knew that, he would have found it by now. “Something that’s mine,” Dean finally said.  
  
Then he stood up, rubbing his hands together. “Well, since we’re dishing like chicks on _Oprah_ , you got any deep seated issues you need to work out?”  
  
Castiel stared up at him. “I have no… issues.”  
  
“Yeah, that’s what I figured.”  
  
Dean walked over to the cooler and got out a beer. Then he started making more s’mores while Castiel watched.  
  
“You sure you don’t want a s’more?” Dean asked.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Or a beer?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“You’re missing out, man.”  
  
Dean made himself s’mores as well as toasted marshmallows (because why not have both?) as they sat in companionable silence. He was about to go see if Bobby still had that old thing to cook popcorn in when he heard a noise.  
  
It was the faint sound of a motor. Dean paused, listening. Definitely a car engine, and definitely getting closer. He caught a flash of distant headlights through the trees.  
  
“Fuck.” Dean jumped up. “Inside. Now.”  
  
Castiel obeyed, and Dean followed him in. Dean grabbed Bobby’s rifle off the wall, loading it without looking. Whoever was coming, it wasn’t going to be for anything good.  
  
Dean positioned himself at the window, looking out at a sideways angle where he couldn’t immediately be seen. A moment later, a car came into view. It skidded to a stop next to the Impala, headlights lighting up the clearing even after the engine cut. The brightness obscured the person that got out of the car, backlighting the figure and throwing features into shadow.  
  
But Dean would recognize that gangly silhouette anywhere. “Shit, it’s Sam.” He pulled open the cabin door.  
  
It was Sam—Sam having what looked like a panic attack.  
  
“Is she here?” he blurted, reaching the steps.  
  
“Who?”  
  
“Jessica. She’s gone, Dean, she’s gone.”  
  
“Dude, why would she be here?”  
  
“I saw her here! I saw it. He has her, he’s gonna kill her—”  
  
“Who?”  
  
“I don’t know!” Sam cried.  
  
“Okay,” Dean said. “Okay. We’ll find her, I promise. Why didn’t you call me?”  
  
“I tried, there’s no service. I have to find her—I have to stop it.”  
  
“What did you see? Where was she?”  
  
“Here,” Sam said, frantic. “Right here.”  
  
“Something’s here,” Castiel said in a low voice. He was staring at nothing in particular, but his eyes were dark and focused. “It’s here now.”  
  
Sam whipped around, looking in all directions. He must have seen something that Dean couldn’t from inside the doorway, because he took off in a mad dash past the end of the cabin.  
  
“Sam!” Dean shouted.  
  
He followed, but the automatic lights on Sam’s car chose that second to go off, and Dean stumbled in the near darkness. But Castiel must have been right behind him because Dean felt hands on his shoulders, steadying him. When he straightened up, he could just make out the figures at the other end of the clearing.  
  
There was Sam, and a splash of blonde hair that was Jessica. Except she wasn’t—someone was holding her.  
  
“Who are you?” Sam was shouting.  
  
“Sam!” Jessica cried.  
  
Dean caught up, coming to a stop a few paces behind Sam. He raised the rifle, even though he knew he wasn’t going to shoot for fear of hitting Jessica.  
  
“Howdy, fellas,” the man said, keeping Jessica in front of him with one hand on her throat. For all that he looked unimposing, there was something off about him. “My, my. This day just keeps getting better and better.”  
  
“Who are you?” Sam demanded. “Let her go!”  
  
“Sam Winchester, at last.”  
  
“How do you know my name?” Sam moved forward, but the man moved back, dragging Jessica with him.  
  
“Your girl just said it.” Then he smirked. “But I’ve done my research. You’re my favorite.”  
  
Sam glanced at Jessica, who didn’t seem to be hurt, just terrified. “What do you want?”  
  
The man smiled again, and his eyes caught the firelight. “You’re special, you know that? Even I didn’t expect such great things.” His eyes slid in Castiel’s direction. “ _And_ you led me right to a broken angel. It really is like Christmas.”  
  
Castiel was glaring at the man, looking more dangerous than anyone had a right to. “Azazel.”  
  
“I must be making them nervous upstairs if everyone knows my name.”  
  
“He’s a demon,” Castiel said.  
  
A demon. Of course. Now they had demons.  
  
“What do you want?” Dean asked.  
  
“Just Sammy boy.”  
  
“And what happens if I just shoot you?”  
  
The demon gave a small shrug. “This body will have a few more holes.”  
  
Dean glanced at Castiel, who nodded grimly. Dean cursed to himself and lowered the rifle.  
  
“Please let me go,” Jessica sobbed. “Please.”  
  
“That depends on Sam.”  
  
Dean could see Sam slipping into lawyer mode, shutting off everything but being calculating. Hell, it wasn’t such a bad move. He was good at reading opponents and keeping a cool head when the situation called for it.  
  
“Okay,” Sam said evenly, spreading his arms. “You wanted my attention; you’ve got it. What do you want with me?”  
  
“First, I want to congratulate you. No one else was able to throw such a spanner in the works. That was quite a vision you had the other day.”  
  
There was a pause. “You set the fire,” Sam realized. “Why?”  
  
“To get you,” Azazel said. “You might say I’m collecting people with special abilities.”  
  
Sam narrowed his eyes. “Castiel said there’s nothing wrong with getting visions. They’re not evil.”  
  
“Oh, they’re not. Not yet. But people like you, Sam, I can use people like you. You have no idea what you could do. All you need is a little go juice to get things started.”  
  
“Why would I team up with you if you killed Jessica?”  
  
Azazel smiled, looking nothing but confident despite the fact that he was outnumbered. “Picture it—you’ve just lost the love of your life in a tragic accident, and then someone turns up saying they can fix it all. Most people give _anything_ for that.”  
  
“Your soul,” Castiel said. “He wants your soul.”  
  
“And we have a winner. Someone give the angel a pat on the head.”  
  
“Let her go,” Castiel growled.  
  
“Close, but no cigar.” The demon chuckled. “You’re just a little bird with a broken wing. You don’t have the power. You can’t even move out of this plane, or you would have snatched her away by now. But as soon as I finish my business with Sam, I’ll be giving you my full attention.” He looked back at Sam. “It’s a good deal. None of that nonsense about years. Just you doing what I want for the rest of your life.”  
  
“Sam, don’t,” Jessica whimpered.  
  
“Quiet,” Azazel said, shaking her. “We could rule the world, Sam. You’re that good—so much raw potential. You even knew I was going to be all the way out here.”  
  
“Why are you here?” Dean said.  
  
“I thought I’d try again with Sam’s lovely lady. You can imagine my surprise when I found her in a place that was saturated with angel. I did a little exploring and gathered that the angel was not having the best of days. So I’m killing two birds with one stone, so to speak. A test of Sam’s abilities, and a project to take back with me.” His eyes slid in the direction of Castiel.  
  
“No one is taking Cas anywhere!” Dean said. Then he saw Sam, who looked resigned. “And you’re not selling your soul!”  
  
Sam looked sick. “He’s going to kill her. And it’s my fault.”  
  
“There has to be another way.”  
  
“Like you wouldn’t sell your soul for me.”  
  
Dean knew fuck all about souls, but they sounded like the one thing you truly owned. And the only way someone was owning Sam was over his dead body.  
  
“No one is selling their soul,” Castiel said.  
  
He stepped forward, but Azazel just tightened his grip on Jessica’s neck, making her struggle to breathe.  
  
“The clock is ticking,” Azazel said. “And my test is over. Either Sam seals the deal now and his pretty girl lives, or I snap her neck and he does it to bring her back. I don’t care either way, but she might. And I’d like to have a good working relationship with you, Sam.”  
  
“Sammy, no,” Dean said, grabbing his shoulder.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Sam said.  
  
“No!”  
  
Sam shoved Dean off, turning toward the demon and Jessica. Which was when chaos erupted.  
  
Jessica disappeared.  
  
Sam yelled in horror.  
  
Azazel’s face exploded with light.  
  
He hung in the air before his body slumped lifelessly to the ground, revealing a man whose outstretched hand was still shining. His other arm was curved around the front of Jessica’s waist, holding her slightly behind him. He looked down at the demon, smug and satisfied. “Well, I can cross him off my hit list.”  
  
“Who the hell are you?” Dean demanded.  
  
The guy shot Dean a look that said he’d clearly asked the stupidest question ever. “Gabriel.”


	8. Chapter 8

“It’s not every day I get to save the damsel in distress,” Gabriel said, addressing no one in particular. He turned to look at Jessica, who was still justifiably shaken. “Whoa, just breathe. I promise he’s dead. I do good work.”  
  
“I… you’re an angel?” she asked.  
  
“Yep.”  
  
“Gabriel,” Sam repeated.  
  
“That’s what they call me. And you,” he said, grinning at Jessica, “you can call me whenever you want.”  
  
Jessica clearly wasn’t put together enough to deal with being hit on by an angel. “Oh. Thanks for, um, saving me,” she mumbled.  
  
A second later, she was throwing herself at Sam, who caught her in a hug. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” he said to her. A moment later, he looked at Gabriel. “Really. Thank you.”  
  
Gabriel shrugged. “All in a day’s work. Well, when I actually work,” he amended.  
  
“You’re an archangel?”  
  
“That’s what it says on my underwear.”  
  
“Um, well, it’s such an honor to meet you.”  
  
Gabriel smirked, moving past them. “You wouldn’t say that if you knew me.”  
  
“Yeah, we’re getting that,” Dean said. “Why don’t you have wings?”  
  
“They’re hidden,” he said, looking smug. “They get in my way.”  
  
“Can you do that?” Dean asked Castiel.  
  
“He can.”  
  
Gabriel’s attention drifted to the other angel. “Hey, Castiel. How’s things?”  
  
“I had a difficultly.”  
  
“You’re telling me.” Gabriel stared at Castiel, apparently looking at something only angels could see. “Yikes. You look like you went through a celestial blender. What happened?”  
  
Castiel flustered, but seemed unwilling to refuse to answer a direct question. “I collided with a satellite.”  
  
Gabriel broke out in laughter.  
  
“It’s not funny!” Dean said.  
  
“Dean,” Castiel said. It was a warning.  
  
“Seriously, Cas? This guy?”  
  
“He is an archangel.”  
  
“Dude, demons, archangels—what’s next, the devil?”  
  
Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Lucifer’s locked in Hell. _Duh_.” He snorted. “But only _Castiel_ could get hit by a satellite.” He glanced at Castiel, raising an eyebrow. “Did you not attend the briefings on those things?”  
  
“How did you even find us?” Sam asked.  
  
“Azazel is not an easy guy to find, even when you’re looking for him. And we have been. But Castiel sent up a homing signal.”  
  
Dean turned to Castiel. “You called him here?” he said, pointing at Gabriel.  
  
“I merely alerted the Host that the demon Azazel was at this location. I told you I was able to contact others.”  
  
“And I came because he was on my list,” Gabriel said. “Case closed.”  
  
“Archangels have hit lists?” Sam said.  
  
“I have two.” Gabriel smirked, crossing his arms and looking satisfied. “A professional one and a personal one.”  
  
“A personal hit list,” Sam repeated.  
  
“Everyone needs a hobby. And they have it coming.”  
  
Dean looked at Castiel. “I thought you said angels didn’t smite people.”  
  
“Gabriel is… an exception.”  
  
“Michael keeps bugging me, saying I’m not pulling my weight around here,” Gabriel complained. “Whatever. Like he wants to deal with Earth. And I killed Lilith last month.” He waved a hand. “No one else down here was getting it done, so it was time to bring out the big guns.”  
  
“And you’re the big guns,” Sam said.  
  
“The biggest,” Gabriel said, taking the opportunity to look at Jessica and wiggle his eyebrows. Then he gave her a casual smile. “So did it hurt when you fell from Heaven, and why didn’t I see you on the way down?”  
  
“Will you stop trying to pick up my fiancée?” Sam snapped. Then he paled as he realized what he’d said. He glanced at Jessica, who was staring at him, mouth open in surprise. “And that had to be the lamest proposal in history,” he said.  
  
“Oh, I’ve heard worse,” Gabriel said. “Anyway, it’s been fun, gang. As long as I’m here, I might as well beam Castiel back to the mothership.”  
  
Dean felt something in his stomach drop. “Thought you weren’t here for Cas.”  
  
“Please, finding missing Desk Angel #3 is so far down on my list that it’s not even on my list.” He looked at Castiel. “But there’s no reason for you to hang around here. Your thing’s all finished?”  
  
Castiel straightened. “Yes, my task is complete.”  
  
“Great. Let’s go.”  
  
Shit, Cas was leaving _right the fuck now_. Dean hadn’t even thought of what he was going to say when Castiel left. And he really didn’t think it was going to be in front of Sam and Jessica and some smartass angel he didn’t even know.  
  
Dean turned to face Castiel. He put a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, you take care of yourself,” he stammered.  
  
Castiel nodded, gazing directly into his eyes. He took a step into Dean’s space and placed both hands on Dean’s shoulders. “It was a pleasure and an honor meeting you.” Then he leaned up and planted a kiss on Dean’s forehead. “Farewell.”  
  
There was a gust of wind, and he was gone.  
  
Dean blinked, stepping back. Just gone. No Castiel, no Gabriel, no dead demon. Nothing.  
  
Nothing but Sam and Jessica, who looked like they were about to have some sickeningly sweet moment. It would probably involve Sam getting down on one knee and declaring his epic love. Dean turned on his heel and strode into the woods. It wouldn’t kill him to give them some privacy.  
  
That’s what he told himself, anyway.  
  
\-----  
  
When Dean came back to the cabin some time later, Sam was drinking a beer in one of the chairs by the fire. Dean sat heavily in the other chair.  
  
“Jess is inside asleep,” Sam said. “We’re going to stay here tonight. I’ll sleep on the floor.”  
  
Dean stared at the fire, which Sam had obviously rebuilt.  
  
“Dean? Is that a problem?”  
  
“No. You know what? You can have the other cot. I’ll drive back.”  
  
“There’s no reason for you to—”  
  
“There’s no reason for me to stay,” Dean said. “Don’t really need a cabin since the angel left.”  
  
Sam sighed. “I didn’t even get to talk to him.”  
  
Dean surprised himself, saying, “What do you want to know?”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“He told me lots of stuff,” Dean said. “Angels, free will, going to Heaven, why bad things happen—the whole deal.”  
  
“Why didn’t you say anything?”  
  
Dean sank further into the chair. “Fuck, I don’t know. Maybe because he wasn’t supposed to talk about it. Maybe because it seemed like he wanted to tell _me_ for some reason.”  
  
Sam paused, studying him. “Maybe you shouldn’t tell me.”  
  
Dean looked away. “What’s it matter? He’s gone now.”  
  
Another pause. “You can tell me later, if you still want to,” Sam said. “She said yes, by the way.”  
  
“Of course she did.” He stood up. “I’ll just get my bag. I’ll leave you guys the food.”  
  
“Yeah, okay. But you don’t have to go, Dean.”  
  
Dean shrugged. “I know. But I am.”  
  
Two minutes later, Dean was behind the wheel of the Impala and heading out. It was over an hour back to Lawrence, but he never minded driving. And if he was completely honest with himself, he wanted to be alone.  
  
Dean knew he’d never asked Castiel about when he was leaving. He realized on some level that part of the reason he’d wanted to come out here was to spend time with Castiel, besides letting him get out of the apartment. But he really hadn’t expected Castiel to be here one second and gone the next without a word of warning.  
  
It was ridiculous, but Dean felt sort of cheated. Which he didn’t have any right to, really. But it wasn’t about angels—it was about Cas, the guy who he was weirdly comfortable with, who almost seemed to get him.  
  
Or maybe any angel would do that. Maybe they all had some sort of weird angelic gravity that just pulled you to them. On the other hand, Dean had met Gabriel for all of five minutes and never wanted to see him again, so maybe not.  
  
Not that it mattered, anyway.  
  
When he got back to his apartment, it was late.  
  
He crashed and burned, not even bothering to undress before falling on the bed.  
  
Dean dreamed about being back in the clearing. Only no one was there except for him and Castiel.   
  
“I’m leaving,” Castiel said.  
  
“I know. Look, I wanted to say—”  
  
“Only I may change the script,” dream Castiel said.  
  
Dean found himself saying, “Hey, you take care of yourself.”  
  
Castiel nodded. Then he took a step into Dean’s space and placed both hands on Dean’s shoulders. “It was a pleasure meeting you. Farewell.” He leaned in, but instead of kissing him on the forehead, Castiel tilted his head and brushed his lips against Dean’s.  
  
Dean woke up in the morning feeling pleased for a reason he couldn’t identify. Then he recalled the dream. The pleased feeling was immediately replaced by panic as he wondered how the hell he was going to keep it from a mind reading angel that he’d had a dream about him.  
  
Something inside him clenched when he remembered that he didn’t have to.  
  
\-----  
  
That day, Dean went to the Roadhouse.  
  
“You’re not supposed to be here today,” Jo said when he walked in.  
  
“Yeah, I know. Can I talk to you?”  
  
It was the dead hour of the afternoon, so Jo just nodded and followed him out to the parking lot. Dean leaned on the hood of the Impala and gestured for her to do the same. Jo looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to speak.  
  
“I’m going to sound like a total dick, but I don’t think we should do this anymore.”  
  
“Do what?” Jo asked. Then her eyes widened. “Oh.”  
  
“I thought it could work,” Dean said. “We’ve known each other a long time. You know me. I thought maybe I had an actual chance with someone who knew me.”  
  
Jo just looked amused. Which, okay, was better than angry, but not the reaction he’d been expecting. “Dean, it’s because I know you that I didn’t think this would work. That’s why I said no for so long.”  
  
“Then why did you say yes?”  
  
“Maybe you needed to see that we couldn’t work.”  
  
Dean threw up his hands. “Great, so now you’re my shrink?”  
  
“ _And_ you’re not the only one allowed to date someone hot for the fun of it. Yeah, I didn’t think this would go anywhere, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t enjoy the ride.”  
  
“So you’re not mad about this?” Dean asked cautiously.  
  
“Not really, no.”  
  
“And we can go back to how we were?”  
  
“Friends who occasionally slap each other on the ass? Hell, yes. Because I’m still slapping you on the ass.”  
  
Dean laughed. “You’re awesome,” he said, leaning down to kiss Jo on the cheek.  
  
“That’s what they tell me,” Jo said. She paused. “So who is she?”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“Come on, Dean. You wouldn’t break up with me if you hadn’t met someone else.”  
  
“Thanks,” Dean muttered. “You know I get around, but I don’t cheat.”  
  
“Hence the breaking up,” Jo said, waving a hand.  
  
“There’s not—really anyone,” Dean said.  
  
Jo just arched a brow.  
  
“It wasn’t a girl,” he mumbled.  
  
“Oh,” Jo said. Then she smirked. “Well, that makes me feel better. Cause what girl could be more awesome than me?”  
  
Dean chuckled.  
  
“But seriously, that doesn’t happen very often for you,” she commented.  
  
“Yeah, well, it’s not happening now, either,” he said, looking away. “He was in a bad spot, I helped him out, and now he’s gone forever. The fucking End.”  
  
“How did he feel?”  
  
“I don’t even know how I feel.” Dean shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.” He pushed himself off the hood. “I should go.”  
  
Jo looked like she would really rather have an intervention and interrogate his feelings out of him, but she just nodded.  
  
“Hey,” Dean said, opening the driver’s door, “Sam proposed to Jess. She said yes.”  
  
“I’m glad for him. Hey, did you get his ring fixed?”  
  
Dean flinched. “Yeah. I did.”  
  
\-----  
  
He dreamed about Castiel again that night. Dean couldn’t remember what he had been dreaming about before, but suddenly he was sitting in his living room chair while Castiel was on the couch.  
  
“Hello, Dean.”  
  
“I’m dreaming,” Dean said. He felt strangely awake.  
  
“Yes. But it doesn’t follow that it’s not real. I’ve seen your parents,” Castiel said without preamble.  
  
“Yeah?” Dean asked, uncertain where this conversation was going. “What did they have to say?”  
  
“I saw them. They did not see me,” Castiel said. “I looked into your mother’s death. It truly was an accident. It had nothing to do with the demon Azazel.”  
  
Dean nodded. “That’s—that’s good. It’s easier to deal with as an accident. I don’t want her to be murdered, you know?”  
  
Castiel nodded in return.  
  
Well, this was… awkward. Especially since it appeared to be real. Even in dreams, there had to etiquette for this sort of thing.  
  
“So what about last night?” Dean asked. “You cut and ran.”  
  
“What?” Castiel said, looking puzzled.  
  
“In the dream.”  
  
“I was in your dream?”  
  
“You know what, never mind,” Dean said quickly. That had apparently been his own imagination, and he was _not_ going to tell Castiel about it. “So you can do this?” Dean asked. “Walk in dreams?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Well, great. Maybe I’ll see you around?”  
  
Castiel shook his head. “It’s not permitted. I shouldn’t be talking to you now, but I wanted to reassure you about your family’s past.”  
  
“Oh.” Dean tried not to feel disappointed. “Yeah, I get it. So how’s Heaven treating you?”  
  
“It is the same.”  
  
“Gabriel got you there all right?”  
  
“Gabriel sent me back alone. He remained on Earth,” Castiel said. “He spends much time there.”  
  
“But you’re okay?” Dean asked. “You’re getting better? You’ll be able to fly again?”  
  
“Yes.” Castiel leaned forward. “Dean, I’m truly thankful for the assistance you provided. And I don’t just mean with my injury. You gave me something. I will not forget you.”  
  
“Yeah, you’re not exactly forgettable yourself,” Dean said. He found himself actually smiling.  
  
Castiel looked up anxiously. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”  
  
Dean nodded.   
  
Castiel disappeared, and the dream ended.  
  
\-----  
  
Life went on.  
  
Dean went to work.  
  
Sam and Jessica planned their wedding.  
  
The apartment complex filled the pool back up.  
  
Dean made himself stop wondering about how Castiel was.  
  
He stopped hoping Castiel would visit him in a dream again.  
  
He emptied the trashcan that had the feathers in it.   
  
\-----  
  
It was over two months later, a chilly evening just after Halloween, that Dean ended up being the last one at the Roadhouse. Ellen was taking her (practically monthly) night off, and Jo had gone home after the kitchen closed. Dean was left to man the bar by himself, but it was a slow night.  
  
By the time he did cleanup and left, it was almost three in the morning. Dean put on some Led Zeppelin and settled in for the drive across town. He was just rounding a curve on the highway when a pickup veered across the median line and into his lane.  
  
Dean swerved, but only succeeded in moving the Impala enough for the pickup to slam into the driver’s side door. There was the sickening screech of crunching metal, and the car spun halfway around after impact before it skidded into the ditch.  
  
The Impala came to rest with a thud and a final creak.  
  
Dean could taste blood in his mouth. But he couldn’t feel anything, even when he tried to. His body wasn’t responding to his efforts to move it. Everything seemed far away.   
  
He could feel himself losing consciousness, or maybe just losing. He didn’t know.  
  
The next second, it sounded like the world was exploding.  
  
The car shook.  
  
Metal groaned.  
  
There was a peculiar silence, and then everything in Dean’s world was on fire.


	9. Chapter 9

Dean opened his eyes to a white ceiling.  
  
It took him more than a minute to figure out why he wasn’t in his own bed and to remember what happened. He could see an IV stand next to him.  
  
There was a noise, and then Sam appeared in his line of sight. He didn’t even look worried. In fact, unless Dean was hallucinating, Sam had on his Exasperated Bitchface.  
  
“Congratulations, Dean,” Sam said. “You’ve managed to freak out the paramedics. Do you know how _hard_ it is to freak out paramedics? They’ve seen everything.”  
  
“Dude, a little sympathy. And what are you talking about?”  
  
“Someone saw the truck on the highway and called it in to 911. When they got there, they found the Impala, which looked like someone had _already_ used the Jaws of Life on it.” Sam crossed his arms. “And then there was you, lying unconscious in the grass without a mark on you.”  
  
“I crawled out?” Dean asked.  
  
“Dean, I’ve seen the car. It was _not_ something you walk away from. And the door was _ripped off_.”  
  
“I’ll rebuild her,” Dean muttered.  
  
“The Impala is seriously messed—”  
  
“I’ll rebuild her,” he repeated. “So you say I’m not hurt?” Dean moved experimentally. Feet worked, hands worked—no searing pain anywhere. Huh. Dean pushed himself up to sit in the bed.  
  
Sam, however, chose to keep looming over him instead of sitting in a chair like a normal person. “I told you, you don’t have a mark on you. And I mean it.” Sam grabbed Dean’s hand.  
  
Dean tried to pull away. “Stop holding my hand.”  
  
Sam pointedly rubbed his thumb over a spot on Dean’s wrist. “Missing something?”  
  
He was missing something—the scar that had been on his wrist ever since an epic bike crash when he was eleven. Which there was no way for Sam to have noticed unless he had _actually_ been holding Dean’s hand at some point. Dean snatched his hand back.  
  
“What, you’re saying I’ve got nothing?”  
  
“You have a burn,” Sam said.  
  
“So? That can’t be that weird in a crash.”  
  
“Yeah, not like this.” Sam pulled out his phone. “I got a picture when they changed your bandage.”  
  
Dean squinted as Sam held up the phone. He couldn’t figure out what he was looking at. “It’s a blob, so what?”  
  
“It’s a handprint,” Sam said.  
  
“It’s a blob.”  
  
“Trust me, I saw all of it, and it’s a handprint. Oh, and apparently it burned right through your clothing.”  
  
“Then at least I wasn’t wearing Dad’s jacket,” Dean said.  
  
“Dean, focus. What do you remember?”  
  
Dean sighed. “I was driving. The truck came into my lane. I tried to turn, but there wasn’t enough time. We crashed.”  
  
“That’s as much as the police said.”  
  
“I don’t know.” Dean shrugged. “It happened fast. My car went off the road and then everything just seemed to stop. That’s all I remember.”  
  
Sam finally sat down.  
  
Dean ran over the facts in his head. There was something obvious here. “I think it was Cas,” he announced. “We know angels can do freaky shit.”  
  
“Okay, but why would he save you and just leave you there?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Dean said. “And dude, how did you even know I was here?”  
  
“Someone from the ER called me. I was the most dialed number on your cell phone.”  
  
Jessica appeared in the doorway, holding two cups of coffee. “Look who found me at the vending machines,” she said.  
  
Gabriel walked in behind her.  
  
“Not you again,” Dean muttered.  
  
“Hey, be nice. I just did you a massive favor.”  
  
“Oh, really?”  
  
Jessica sat down on the arm of Sam’s chair.  
  
“And you,” Gabriel said, pointing at Sam, “stop asking everyone about how weird that shockwave was last night. Or I’ll add you to the ‘erase memory’ list.”  
  
Sam gaped. “ _You’re_ why everyone keeps looking at me like I’m crazy?”  
  
“I’m sure there are other reasons.” Gabriel crossed his arms. “I really should just wipe the lot of you.”  
  
Jessica leaned forward. “You wouldn’t make me forget you, would you?” she asked sweetly.  
  
“Weeeell, when you put it like that,” he conceded.  
  
“Will you stop encouraging him?” Sam said.  
  
“Oh, come on, Sam, how many chances will I get to flirt with an archangel?”  
  
“As many as you want,” Gabriel said smoothly.   
  
“But Sam and I do come as a pair now,” she said, holding up her hand to show off her ring.   
  
Gabriel pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I can work with that.”  
  
Sam put his head between his hands. “Oh, my God,” he muttered.  
  
Jessica wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “You’re so cute when you’re embarrassed.”  
  
“I see how it is,” Gabriel said with a sigh. “Don’t worry, I’ll move on. Somehow.”   
  
“We’ll always have the woods,” Jessica teased. “You’re part of the engagement story I can never tell anyone.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes. “I feel like I’m in a soap opera.”  
  
Gabriel glared at Dean, clearly annoyed at having his fun interrupted. “Would you like to actually be a in a soap opera? Cause I can do that.”  
  
“What do you mean you did Dean a favor?” Sam asked.  
  
“I’m cleaning up the mess his BFF made.”  
  
“So it was Castiel.”  
  
“Where’s Cas?” Dean asked. “Why did he leave?”  
  
“‘Cas’ is busy at the moment.”  
  
For the first time, Dean glanced at his shoulder, which was wrapped in a bandage. “And what’s with this?”  
  
“Hey, don’t complain,” Gabriel said. “You got a shiny new skin and your organs aren’t hanging out. Seems like a pretty good deal to me.”  
  
“So angels can heal people, but it leaves them with horrible burns?”  
  
“Angels can heal people, period. The horrible burn is from him shoving your soul back in your body, bucko. Grace doesn’t mix well with human flesh.”  
  
“Whoa, whoa, whoa—my _soul_? I was _dead_?”  
  
“For under a second. Not like it counts.” Gabriel made a dismissive gesture. “You’d barely gotten outside your body.”  
  
“ _What_ is going on?” Dean demanded.  
  
“It’s a long story.”  
  
There was an extended pause.  
  
“Well, are you going to _tell_ us any of it?” Sam asked.  
  
“Not really,” Gabriel said. “Also, you were never here.” He snapped his fingers, and Dean jumped as he found himself seated in the back of Sam’s car.   
  
“Holy crap.” One second they were all in the hospital room, the next they were in the parking lot in Sam’s car.  
  
“A warning would have been nice,” Sam muttered from the driver’s seat. He was acting like he’d never been in his own car before.  
  
“That was actually pretty amazing,” Jessica said.  
  
Gabriel leaned forward. “See what you’re missing?” Then he leaned back, draping his arm over the backseat and too close for Dean’s comfort.  
  
“You were in a car accident,” Gabriel recited. “There was nothing unusual about it. You miraculously walked away and were never taken to the hospital. A police report was filed. The driver at fault might or might not make a recovery. There was no shockwave,” he said, eyeing Sam. “No car doors were ripped off, and no mysterious handprints were seen by anyone. Understood?”  
  
“Not that I want a memory wipe,” Jessica spoke up, “but if you’re supposed to be cleaning this up, why not do us, too?”  
  
Gabriel grinned and held up a finger. “That’s for me to know.”  
  
“And us to find out?” Dean asked.  
  
“Maybe. Maybe not.” Gabriel snapped his fingers and vanished.  
  
\-----  
  
Sam drove Dean back to his apartment. Dean was still in his hospital gown and absolutely refused to even walk from the parking lot like that, so he’d sent Sam and Jessica in to get him some clothes.  
  
After he was dressed, inside, and they had left, Dean took off his shirt and went to stand in front of the bathroom mirror. He removed the bandage. Sam was right. There was a fucking handprint wrapped around his upper arm. It looked like a second-degree burn.  
  
“Dammit, Cas, where are you?” Dean muttered.  
  
Dean was on edge for the rest of the day.  
  
He fully expected to have weird dreams that night, of his own making or someone else’s. He wasn’t disappointed.  
  
After going to sleep, Dean found himself sitting in his living room, with that weird feeling of being asleep yet conscious. But instead of finding Castiel, or even Gabriel, he found a female angel who looked like she’d dyed her hair to match her wings.  
  
“I like the color of my wings,” she said.  
  
“Yeah. No, um, it’s a good look for you,” Dean stammered.  
  
An angel who apparently had no qualms about reading his mind.  
  
She smiled. “We’re in your mind. Everything bleeds together here.” She sat down on the edge of the chair. “I’m Anael.”  
  
“Dean.”  
  
“I know. I had to come. I had to see who Castiel did it for.” Now she was practically beaming at him.  
  
Here was an angel who might actually talk to him. “What exactly did he do?”  
  
“He got in trouble.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“We’re not supposed to interfere. Not that it’s usually a problem.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“Most of us would never do it.” Anael paused, considering. “We don’t connect like you do.”  
  
Dean suddenly felt uncomfortable. “Connect romantically?”  
  
“I mean any sort of connections besides camaraderie. It’s rare that we form attachments—to each other or humans.” She gave a sad smile. “I always wondered what it would be like to be close. Even to fall in love. You do that all the time down here.”  
  
“Yeah, not as much as you’d think.”  
  
“We’re built to serve,” Anael said. “Sometimes I don’t think we’re made for anything else. That’s why I’m happy for Castiel. He figured something out the rest of us can’t. I want to figure it out,” she added.   
  
“You,” Gabriel said, appearing. “Back in Heaven. Now.”  
  
He pointed. Anael disappeared.  
  
“She seemed nice,” Dean said.  
  
“Uh-huh.” Gabriel flopped in the recliner.  
  
“Why don’t you let her come to Earth? Be one of the angels that kills demons?”  
  
“Because the angels that are fascinated with Earth end up causing nothing but trouble. And she’s already caused me enough trouble today.” He looked thoughtful. “I never should have let her watch those Lifetime movies.”  
  
“You have TV in Heaven?”  
  
“I do.” Gabriel smirked, putting his feet up on the coffee table. “Besides, even the angels stationed on Earth don’t get to do anything real. She wouldn’t be happy with it.”  
  
Dean snorted. “Like you care if anyone’s happy.”  
  
“I might care more than you think,” Gabriel said, leveling a glare at him.  
  
The next second, Dean was back in his bedroom. It was still nighttime, but he knew he was actually awake.  
  
“Dean.”  
  
“Holy crap!” Dean sat up swiftly, and he could just make out a shape sitting on the end of his bed. “Shit. Cas?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“You’re here.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“For how long?”  
  
Castiel didn’t answer, but started a different topic entirely. “Some time ago, I told you about my duties in Heaven.” He paused. “Your name appeared on my list.”  
  
“And you thought—what?” Castiel wasn’t looking at him, and the room was nearly dark. It almost made the conversation seem more important.  
  
“I did not think. I reacted. I left Heaven and came to where you were. I opened the car. I pulled you out. I healed your body and made your flesh and soul one again.”  
  
He said it so matter-of-factly. Fuck, part of Dean still couldn’t believe he was sitting here with someone who could just _do_ that, much less that they had done it for him.  
  
“Why did you leave me there?”  
  
“I had to. I couldn’t be missed in Heaven,” Castiel said. “But it didn’t matter. You may recall that when someone who is supposed to die does not, it attracts attention. Such things are usually the result of something supernatural with a great deal of power.”  
  
“Like you.”  
  
Castiel’s head turned toward him. “Yes. Like me.”  
  
“I don’t have any scars,” Dean said. “At all.”  
  
“I was in a hurry. I fixed everything.”  
  
Dean tried to laugh, but it died in his throat. “Why? Why did you do it? I thought you guys were supposed to be ‘agents of fate’. Not that I’m not grateful, but if I’d died, I’d be in Heaven, right? I could have seen my parents. Hell, I could have seen you. You could come over after work,” he joked.  
  
“You would be happy in Heaven,” Castiel said. “But existing is not the same as living.” He paused. “I told myself that I wanted to repay you.”  
  
“Dude, I think this goes above and beyond being square for dragging you out of a pool.”  
  
“I agree.” He glanced down at his hands and added, with no inflection at all, “I’ve been expelled from Heaven.”  
  
“Wait, what?” Dean asked. “Cas, I know we had the whole ‘I’m a good person’ talk, but dude, I am _not_ worth getting kicked out of Heaven for.”  
  
“I disagree. But it’s done.”  
  
“From _Heaven_!” Dean emphasized.  
  
“If it eases your mind, my banishment is not permanent.”  
  
Castiel was still just a dark shape at the end of the bed, but for the first time, Dean realized something was missing. He moved closer and was shocked when his hand encountered nothing but Castiel’s back.  
  
“Cas, where are your wings?”  
  
“They’re bound.”  
  
“Fuck, they didn’t— _take_ them, did they?” Dean asked, staring as if seeing a person _without_ wings was something truly bizarre.  
  
“No. They’re merely in a different plane, like Gabriel’s.”  
  
“Does it hurt?” Dean asked, removing his hand.  
  
“No. Though it feels strange not to have access to them.”   
  
Dean was close enough to search Castiel’s face, but he found nothing resentful there. Nothing angry.  
  
“I chose this, Dean. Perhaps not this exactly, but I knew there would be consequences.”  
  
“How long, Cas? How long did you screw up your life for me?”  
  
“It’s undetermined, and at Gabriel’s discretion. And you are not a screw up,” he added.  
  
“Gabriel?” Dean asked. “How did he get dragged into it?”  
  
“It fell to Anael to determine why you had not arrived in Heaven,” Castiel said, looking down. “It was not difficult for her to trace what I had done back to me. Gabriel became involved because he was the one who delivered me home after my previous time on Earth—where had I encountered you.”  
  
“Anael was just in my dream,” Dean said. “She seemed glad that you did what you did.”  
  
“She has a high opinion of humanity. I believe she convinced Gabriel to intervene on my behalf. As the archangel in charge of those on Earth, he selected my punishment.”  
  
“So you’re working for Gabriel now? Killing demons?”  
  
“No,” Castiel said, meeting his eyes again. “I am restricted. I can’t fly, or heal, or smite. I am to do nothing. To be without purpose, and without Heaven or the Host is considered a great loss.”  
  
“Uh-huh,” Dean said slowly. A picture was beginning to form in his mind. It involved a devious archangel who liked Earth and who Dean wouldn’t put it past to screw with other angels.   
  
“I think Gabriel is a magnificent bastard,” Dean said. “But it sounds like he’s the right kind of bastard to have around.”  
  
“Gabriel is the angel of judgment. Some say he enjoys punishing others more than his obligations call for. Others say Gabriel’s fury is always well deserved.”  
  
“And some say that he can hear it when you talk about him,” Gabriel said. “Which is why people only say nice things anymore.”  
  
Gabriel snapped, and the lights came on. He leaned against the dresser and just looked at them. Dean got out of bed and stood up.  
  
“So this is Cas’ punishment?” Dean asked. “Being stuck on Earth?”  
  
“Bingo. The penalty fits the crime,” Gabriel said, sounding satisfied. “Castiel was way too involved with what was happening on Earth, and now he’s on probation here. We’ll see how well he really likes it.”  
  
“Yeah, looking at the gift horse and all, but seriously? This is a punishment?”  
  
Gabriel gave him an innocent look. “Most of us would think so.”  
  
“You don’t,” Dean observed.  
  
Gabriel shrugged. “I’m the black sheep of the family.”  
  
“Wouldn’t that be Lucifer?” Dean asked pointedly.  
  
“I’m the gray sheep of the family,” Gabriel amended. “It’s why I ended up on Earth duty.” He pushed away from the dresser and shoved his hands in his pockets. “And one of the perks of being an archangel is that you can do whatever the hell you want as long as it doesn’t involve destroying humanity.”  
  
“The archangels run Heaven,” Castiel said. “Their will is law.”  
  
Dean frowned. “Shouldn’t, y’know, _God_ be running Heaven?”  
  
“God’s on vacation,” Gabriel said. “What, you don’t think He would create something as awesome as Earth and then not visit?”  
  
“God’s on Earth? Where?”  
  
“Right, like I’m telling you.” Gabriel snorted. “He’s in an undisclosed location. It’s on a need to know basis,” he said, lowering his voice. Then, “Well, I’m out of here. Try not to break Castiel, huh?”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes. “Is this the part where you tell me to take good care of him or else?”  
  
Gabriel laughed. “Please. If you piss him off, Castiel can kill you by looking at you funny.”  
  
“No one is killing Dean.”  
  
“Yeah, I got the memo on that, believe me,” Gabriel said. “But you owe me. Do you know how annoying it is to erase all evidence of a _sonic boom_?”  
  
Castiel flustered, glancing down. “I was in a hurry.”  
  
“Apparently. I know you didn’t get out much, but free tip—you’re supposed to fly that fast in _our_ space, not theirs.”  
  
“I was in a hurry.”  
  
Gabriel shook his head. He looked at Dean. “He’s your problem now.”  
  
“Cas is not a problem!”  
  
Gabriel grinned, and then he was gone.  
  
Dean sighed. Castiel looked up at him, and Dean went to sit next to him on the edge of the bed. “Any other angels going to be dropping by?” Dean asked.  
  
“I would imagine not.”  
  
There was a short silence.  
  
“I did not know anyplace else for Gabriel to leave me,” Castiel said after a moment. “And I wished to see you.”  
  
Dean turned to look at him. “What are you talking about?”  
  
“I don’t know yet exactly what I will do with my time on Earth.”  
  
“Well, you’re staying here, obviously.”  
  
“I didn’t want to presume,” he said. Though Dean thought he looked pleased.  
  
“You know, for a guy who was lecturing me about self-esteem, you don’t seem to have much of your own. You really thought I’d just send you on your merry way?”  
  
Castiel stared at him, head tilting slightly. “No. But I expect to be on this plane of existence for years.”  
  
“Well, great. So do I.”  
  
“And I don’t wish you to feel obligated,” Castiel said.  
  
“Cas, I’d have you here even if you hadn’t put me back together. It’s not about that.” Dean paused. “Really, I wish you’d never left. I—I missed you.”  
  
“And I you.”  
  
“You missed me,” Dean repeated doubtfully. “Aren’t you like millions of years old? I know I’m getting stuck on this, but, dude, you shouldn’t even care.”  
  
“You’re different,” Castiel said simply.  
  
“Yeah? Maybe anyone who helped you would end up being different.”  
  
“I assure you, they would not.” Castiel seemed to close what little distance there was between them. “Would another angel suit you as easily?”  
  
“No,” Dean said automatically.  
  
“Then we agree,” Castiel said. “It is not what we are, but who.”  
  
“But you _are_ still an angel? I don’t like you losing things because of me.”  
  
“Though limited, I am still an angel,” Castiel said. “I will interfere with electronics. I don’t need to sleep. I might read your mind.”  
  
“Can you still pick a fight with concrete and win?” Dean asked, smirking.  
  
Castiel made an amused noise. “Yes.”  
  
“So not all bad.”  
  
“No,” Castiel said, gazing at him. “Not all bad.”  
  
Dean took a breath. He had no idea what this thing he had with Cas was. If it was going somewhere else or staying exactly the same. Either way, he didn’t care. Cas was here, and he wasn’t leaving.  
  
“What do you want, Cas?” Dean asked.  
  
“I don’t know.”  
  
Dean pointed to his own shoulder. “This is a pretty big thing to do for an ‘I don’t know.’”  
  
“Yes. I don’t know. But I would like to figure it out.” Castiel still hadn’t looked away from him. “Dean?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Do you recall how you said you wanted something that was yours?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Castiel simply placed his hand over Dean’s. “You have it.”  
  
  
 _—the end_


End file.
